
i 









V\ V <?o 













oH 



k V ^ 



. 










PxiMiilieaiyr Kriaillips, X! 71, S' Paxils Chrcrch Yard. 




JTutrston. efelT 



II Tni/tor Jr**?/*.' 

//€>////{ Av/A/ e A /////A/ r>/ r/fo//o//V / // ////' ArrAA 



THE 

.RITISH NEPOS; 

CONSISTING OF 

SELECT LIVES 

<OF 

ILLUSTRIOUS BRITONS, 

WHO HAVE 

Distinguished themselves by their Virtues, Talents, or 
remarkable Advancement in Life; 

WITH INCIDENTAL PRACTICAL REFLECTIONS. 

Written purposely for the Use of Schools, and carefully adapted to 
the situations and capacities of Youth, 

By WILLIAlVf^MAVOR, LL.D. 

VICAR OF HURLER, BERKSHIRE, 
AND CHAPLAIN TO THE EARL OF DUMFRIES. 



THIRD LDITIOZT, 
WITH TWENTY-FOUR PORTRAITS. 



Hie rnaruis, ofa patriam pucnando vulnera passi: 
Quique s:ieerciotes casti, dum vita manebat : 
Quique pii vates. et Phceto dignalocuti? 
Inventas aut qui vitam excoluere per arte*: 
Quique sui memores alios fecere merendo. 



HonDon : 

PRINTED FOR RICHARD PHILLIPS, 

No. 71, St. Paul's Church- Yard 5 

By T. GiHtt Salisbury-Square. 

And fold by T. Hurst, Paternofter-Row $ John Harris, (fuccefTor to 

' Mrs. Newbery) St .Paul's Church-yard-, Lackington, Allen, 

and Co, Finfbury-fquare ; Benj. Tabart, New Bond-ftreet j 

Wilmot and Hill, in the Borough; Wilson and 

Spence, York ; H. Mozley, Gainfborough j 

and all other Bookfellers* 



1802. 
Price Four Shillings and Sixpence* bound^ 



[€ttte«ti at Statiowf BaII.3 



DEDICATION. 

TO THE 

RIGHT HON. LORD LOUGHBOROUGH, 

LORD HIGH CHANCELLOR OF GREAT BRITAIN, 
MY LORD, 

TN arduous undertakings, the goodness of the in- 
-*- tention is generally allowed to throw a veil over the 
imperfections of the performance. The sincere tri- 
bute of a mite in rendering the effusions of respect, 
may be equal to the ostentatious offering of a talent* 
The following pages, which exhibit the prominent- 
traits of character in some of the most illustrious 
Britons who have quitted the mortal scene, for the 
instruction and imitation of those who are entering 
on the stage of life, have a modest claim to the 
favour of the good, and even the patronage of the 
great. 

The nature of the high and important office which 
your lordship fills with so much reputation to your- 
self, and advantage to the public, gives influence 
to your sanation, and seems to legitimate this address. 
Whatever has for its objedt to inspire right principles 
into the minds of youth, whether through the me- 
dium of moral precept, or the more impressive means 
A z There 



1V . DEDICATION, 

of splendid example, is peculiarly entitled to the re- 
gard of one of the most dignified guardians of a 
nation's rights 

There is another reason, my Lord, that gives 
propriety to this Dedication, and additional force to 
lny remark. At some period (but may it be distant !) 
your own name will be seen in the list of tho.se de- 
parted great men, who have performed a brilliant 
and an useful part in life, and who are justly admit- 
ted into the temple of British fame. The future 
biographer will do justice to your worth and merits, 
and hold you up as a mirror to encourage and direct. 
That your living example may long haye a beneficial 
effect on society, is the fervent wish of, 

MY LORD, 

Your Lordship's most dutiful 

And very humble servant, 

W. MAVOR. 
Woodstock, Qa. 10* 1758. 



PREFACE. 

f | T HE propriety of a judicious biograpliical ma- 
-*• nual, for the use of Schools, is so obvious, that 
we are confident, most persons will be struck with the 
existing deficiency, as soon as ft is -named, and wonder 
that no attempt has hitherto been made to supply it. 
Such was the impression it made on our minds^ when 
we contemplated the various aids to education which 
modern times have produced, and yet found no work 
on the subject of Biography, that could be recom- 
mended to youth without reserve, or indeed appeared 
to be intended for their exclusive use. Example is 
universally allowed to be more powerful than pre- 
cept ; but so contracted is the spaere of action, so 
limited the field of observation in our early years, 
that unless the lives of eminent persons open sources 
of knowledge, or offer objects for imitation, how 
are we to avoid the danger of irregular conduct or 
vicious habits ? how are we to catch the flame of 
emulation, or aspire to the laurels of desert ? 

It is one great advantage of classical studies, to 
those who are fortunate enough to enjoy tKeni, that 
in acquiring the languages of Greece and Rome, 
we insensibly contract an acqo some of 

the most illustrious characters of ant nod are 

partially admitted into their venerable s^ 
learn to accompany a Solon and a Lycu:. 

their 



VI PREFACE, 

their legislative labours; we hear a Plato and a 
Socrates philosophize, a Homer and a Virgil 
sing. From a Tully we are early warmed by 
the glow of eloquence with the love of our coun- 
try; from a Pliny we imbibe sentiments that 
heighten the social and domestic affeftions, and 
endear man to man. At the contemplation ftf such 
monsters as the classi'c page sometimes pourtrays, 
the ingenious mind revolts ; a Tiberius, a Nero, 
or a Sejanus, rouses the indignant feelings of the 
soul; and we learn to appreciate and execrate the 
sanguinary tyrant and the worthless minion, amidst 
the splendor of usurped power, and the flattery of 
grovelling sycophants. 

But the char afters of those who afted on a dis- 
tant theatre, and have long since retired from the 
scene, are much less calculated to make an impression, 
than such as have risen nearer our own times, and 
are connefted with us by the ties of country, reli- 
gion, and manners. 

The ancient models, however excellent, are nei- 
ther capable of being- uniformly copied? nor do they 
strike with the same force as the modern. Their 
virtues and their vices are to be estimated accord- 
ing to a different standard ; they had neither the same 
views, nor the same incitements to aftion or forbear- 
ance. The spirit of valour, the sense of justice, and 
the fervid love of their country, were eminently con- 
spicuous in some Greek and Roman names, which 

posterity 



PREFACE, Vll 

posterity will ever regard with admiration \ while 
others reached such heights of lettered fame, from the 
vigour of their genius, as almost to check the compe- 
tition of succeeding ages ^ reason, however, bids us 
confess, that the heroism of the best was frequently 
sullied by barbarity, that their inflexible justice sa- 
voured of cruelty, and their partial attachments were 
unfriendly to a generous philanthropy, while their 
learning and manners were tinctured by the gross 
maxims and the cruel or superstitious practices of pa- 
gan theology. 

To a certain degree the virtues of the ancients 
ought to inspire emulation, and are worthy of being 
precedents to ail posterity ^ but that soft charm which 
a pure religion and more liberal notions diffuse over 
Christian manners, that animating prospeft which is 
now holden out to encourage laudable endeavours, 
and those terrors which are denounced against nefa- 
rious actions, could not operate on classical ages, be- 
cause they were unknown. 

Hence, when we wish to stimulate or to warm, we 
ought to have recourse to such examples as will more 
immediately allure by their practicability, or deter by 
their consequences. We ought to single out those 
who have been born under the same government, who 
have enjoyed the same privileges, who have been ac- 
tuated by the same motives, both present and future, 
A coincidence of original situation, however remote 
the end $ a conviction, that what has btexi the pass- 
a 4 port 



Vill PREFACE. 

port to honour or fame, may still serve to open their 
temples, will infallibly incite the youthful breast to 
pant for similar rewards, by pursuing the same line of 
conduct. He who emulates, will thus find in the ob- 
ject of his emulation an incentive to hope, or an an- 
tidote against despair — a guide in all difficulties — and 
a silent monitor that cannot wound his pride. 

But Biography is not only valuable as an example 
to imitate, but as a beacon to warn. The impartial 
distribution of posthumous fame or censure must have 
some effect on the most callous and unprincipled. 
The thought of being handed down to posterity in 
colours of infamy, must frequently repress the vicious 
machination, and forbid the atrocious deed. The 
love of reputation was implanted in our natures for 
the wisest and noblest end. Few possess that unenvi- 
able magnanimity which can render them indifferent 
to public opinion ; or are so sunk in the apathy of 
vice, as to feel no melody in the sound of deserved 
applause. 

To praise desert can scarcely fail to be a stimulus 
to virtuous actions. Those who have benefited or en- 
lightened mankind, should receive commendation 
with no niggardly hand. The flowers strewed on the 
grave of merit is the most grateful incense to living 
worth. How often has the sight of the monuments 
in Westminster Abbey inspired the martial enthusi- 
asm, the flame of patriotism, or the emulation of ge- 
nius in the youthful breast ? There are generous pas- 
sions 



PREFACE. IX 

dons in the soul of man, which frequently lie dormant 
till some exciting cause serves to wake their suscepti- 
bilities, and gives impulse to their native direction. 
Even a well- written amiable life has tempted many to 
live well. 

Impressed with the truth of those remarks, we 
have studied to lay before the public a selection of 
the lives of those Britons who have rendered them- 
selves illustrious by their virtues or their talents, in 
various spheres of action, compiled in such a manner 
as to sketch the prominent features of conduct, cha- 
racter, and situation, rather than record the detail of 
ordinary events*. To catch the leading traits of ju- 
venile propensity; to mark the steps that in riper 
years led to honour -, and to point out the miscarri- 
ages that prevented success, have been our principal 
aim. We have sometimes endeavoured to instruct 
by contrast, but more commonly to animate by mo- 
dels worthy of imitation. % If the catalogue be thought 
too small, or the incidents too few, let it be remem- 
bered that we wrote for youth a/c?ie> and that we nei- 
ther wished to bewilder their judgment, burden their 
memory, nor tax their pocket, by the size of our 
volume. 

It would have been much easier to extend our 
plan than to confine it within such moderate limits ; 

* Cornelius Nepos' " Lives of distinguished Persons," a book 
constantly read in classical schools, as it first suggested the idea and 
title of this Volume, so it also served as a kind of model iu its exe- 
cution. - "* 

A 5 but 



X PREFACE. 

but to the numerous works on general biography, al- 
ready before the public, it would have been unneces- 
sary to add ; and an attempt to improve them would 
be vain. They have already passed the test of criti- 
cism, and are valued as they deserve, by the accom- 
plished scholar. Happy should we be to find, that 
parents and instructors of youth deem this manual 
deserving their patronage, and adapted to the use of 
tyros, for whom it is designed. The motives which 
prompted a publication on this plan, we are satisfied 
cannot be wrong : if we have failed to realize our 
ideas, it is only because it is easier to project than to 
execute — to know what is right than to be able to 
perform it. To the candour of the public we commit 
ourselves and our work, the first of its kind hitherto 
attempted in this country : we ask no praise but the 
praise of meaning well — we fear no censure but that 
wfikh must arise from a conscienciousness of volun- 
tary error or neglect. 



JDVERTRE* 



ADVERTISEMENT. 



TO PARENTS AND TUTORS. 

THOUGH the Editor of this Volume by no means pre- 
sumes to dictate generally to the learned instructors of 
Touth, yet he takes the liberty to suggest, from long expe- 
rience in the art of teaching) an important end to which the 
British Nepos may be applied. 

The memory and application of pupils are obvious, and 
easily ascertained ; but their real genius and capacity fre- 
quently escape observation for a considerable time, from 
a want of opportunity to exert them. _In order, therefore , 
to develope the latent faculties of judgment , reflection and 
imagination, and to impress the youthful mind with right 
principles of action, he would beg leave to recommend, 
that each LIFE be made the subject of an exercise, to be 
written by the scholars, and presented to their master, once 
a- week or ofiener. 

In this exercise the pupil should be required to point out 
the leading circumstances in fortune and char abler, and 
to deduce a few maxims or observations from the whole, 
for the regulation of his own conducl in future scenes of 
action, as well as to display his powers of ratiocination and 
taste. 

By this ?neans the Biography will be rendered a very 

useful leclur e-book ,- and, while it e?itertains the juvenile 

fancy with various pictures of If e and manners, it will 

insensibly tend to enlarge the understanding and improve 

the hearts 

a6 



CONTENTS. 

Page 

ALFRED THE GREAT 17 

FRIAR BACON 28 

JOHN WICKLIFF 32 

GEOFFERY CHAUCER 3() 

CARDINAL WOLSEY 44 

SIR THOMAS MORE 52 

CROMWELL, EARL OF ESSEX 60 

BISHOP LATIMER Qj 

SEBASTIAN CA30T 76 

BISHOP JEWELL 80 

SIR THOMAS GRESHAM 87 

THE ADMIRABLE CRICHTON 96 

SIR FRANCIS WALSINGHAM 103 

SIR FRANCIS DRAKE 1 JO 

LORD BURLEIGH . . ..... 1 23 

WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE . . . . 134 

SIR WALTER RALEIGH 144 

LORD BACON 155 

ANDREWS, BISHOP OF WINCHESTER ... 1 66 

SIR EDWARD COKE 173 

EARL OF STRAFFORD 185 

JOHN HAMPDEN 1Q5 

DR. WILLIAM HARVEY 204 

ADMIRAL BLAKE 208 

THE EARL OF CLARENDON. 219 



CONTENTS. 13 

Page 

JOHN MILTON 229 

ANDREW MARVELL 240 

ALGERNON SYDNEY 245 

ARCHBISHOP TILLOTSON 252 

JOHN LOCKE 262 

CHIEF JUSTICE HOLT..~. 268 

BISHOP BURNET f ljQ 

WILLIAM PENN 285 

JOSEPH ADDISON 2()1 

THE-DUKE OF MARLBOROUGH 2£?9 

SIR ISAAC NEWTON 310 

SIR ROBERT WALPOLE . . . . 320 

THE EARL OF STAIR 327 

SIR HANS SLOANE . . . 335 

GENERAL WOLFE 341 

LORD ANSON. . . .' 346 

THE EARL OF HAKDWICKE 354 

SIR JOHN BARNARD 358 

LORD LYTTELTON . 364 

LORD CLI VE 373 

EARL OF CHATHAM 381 

DAVID GARRICK 3Q2 

CAPTAIN COOK 400 

SIR WILLIAM BLACKSTONE . 408 

DR. JOHNSON 414 

BISHOP LOWTH 426 

JOHN HOWARD. 432 

Critical 



Critical Opinions which have been published res peeling 

Dr. Mavor* s Bri?ISU NEPOS^ and which cannot 

fail to satisfy all Parents and ^Tutors of the propriety 

of their introducing it to the use of their Children and 

Pupils. 



Extracl from the Monthly Revi ew, for June, 1799. 

« TN presenting this work to /the public, Dr. Mavor has not only- 
made a valuable and' much wanted addition to the school library, 
but has furnished a book which is well calculated for the parlour win- 
dow, and for the shelf in the room behind the shop of those tradesmen 
who devote to reading some of the hours which they can steal from bu- 
siness ; justly persuaded that money without knowledge is an acquisi- 
tion of little value. As we cannot be ignorant of the dullness and ap- 
parent sterility of the initiatory paths to science, we are pleased with 
every thing that tends to enliven juvenile study, and to excite an early 
love of reading. It may be objected to what is called a classical educa- 
tion that it leaves us ignorant of those characters and events which are 
most interesting to us; that it directs the ardour and curiosity of young 
readers from the theatre of their own country, and from the great and ' 
illustrious persons who have acted on it, to men who' have figured in 
remote climes and periods, and with whose history, though certainly it 
be worth knowing, we are not so intimately connected. Respect is 
due to science and virtue in all ages ; and let them be presented to the 
minds of youth so as to fire them with the noblest ambition : but let 
not our systems of instruction- be such that young men of genius shall 
contemplate with admiration the heroes of antiquity, while obscurity is 
suffered to rest on that part of the temple of Fame which contains the 
worthies of their own country. 

" To British History, Chronology, and Biography, the attention of 
the British youth ought to be awakened •, and while we wonder that 
more works have not been compiled with this intention, we would give 
to Dr. Mavor the praise and credit which are due to him for this agree- 
able biographical manual 5 and we would recommend it to the masters 
of all our respectable schools. It is pleasingly written : and the reflec- 
tions interspersed are calculated to inspire a love of pure and generous 
principles, and an hatred of all such as tend to degrade civilized man. 

" At the head of- each- article, Dr. Mavor has very judiciously set 
down the time when the person who is the subject of it was born, and 
when he died ; and if the death was a violent one, that circumstance is 
specified. 

" Embracing the most eventful and important periods of English 
story, this rich variety of biog aphical matter must prove acceptable to 
young readers, and to such as thirst for knowledge, which they are 
obliged to "-snatch? as Pope says, i( not take:' 1 The memoirs are in- 
troduced by judicious remarks from the pen of Dr. M.; some specimens 
of which we think it may be gratifying to our readers to subjoin." 

[Here the Reviewer extracts a variety of elegant passages, and proceeds.'] 

L " This 



Critical Opinions of Dr. Mavor's Nepos, 

M This BjtiTisn Nepos (the title and idea of which were suggested!, 
as we need not tell the classical reader, by a Latin book much read in 
Schools, entitled " The Lives of illustrious Personages, by Cornelius 
Nepos") is preceded by an advertisement, addressed to parents and tu- 
tors, in which Dr. Mavor, with a view of developing the latent facul- 
ties of judgment and reflexion, and of impressing the youthful mind 
with right principles of adlion, recommends that each life be made the 
subject of an exercise to be written by the scholars and presented to 
their master once in a week, or oftener. This hint is worth regarding. 
The example of the good and wise has always been considered as sin- 
gularly conducive to virtue j and this mode of studying biography must 
give it peculiar efficacy." 

Extraft from i1\c Critical Review, for April , 1799. 

c< The Biography of illustrious men deserves a more distinguished 
rank than it has hitherto occupied in the system of British education. — 
We- think Dr. Mayor's Nepos has many advantages to recommend it 
to extensive circulation. It is compendious, and includes those pro- 
minent characters of British excellence, with which it is chiefly desir- 
able for our youth to be acquainted. The style in which the lives are 
written may justly be commended." 

'Extract from the Christian Spectator, No. IX. 

*' From the plan and execution of this work, I am warranted in 
giving it a strong recommendation, as being most admirably calculated 
to cherish the best and most tried principles in young minds. The 
persons whose memoirs this judicious biographer has selected for the 
improvement and entertainment of young persons, are those who have 
filled up the most important stations in society, with the greatest glory 
to themselves and advantage to the state The actions of these great 
men are told in a plain and pleasing manner; and, what is no small 
difficulty in a work adapted- for juvenile capacities, the incidental re- 
flections suggested by particular circumstances, or traits of character, 
are so naturally made, that the reader cannot, but feel the effect of the 
example with a force equal to the pleasure excited by the story." 

Extract frem the New London Review, for February y 1799. 

*' The patterns of excellence here placed before the eyes of young 
minds, are all distinguished by such talents and virtues as every parent 
would wish successfully cultivated by his offspring. The vices which 
here and there darken the picture, only render the lustre of the whole 
the more sufferable, and shade a brilliancy otherwise both offensive and 
inimitable. We know not, that from the ample circle of British bio- 
graphy a more animating and improving selection could be made. The 
experience and acquisitions of those who have distinguished themselves 
in almost every public and private walk of society, are thus held up, 
in minute traits, and bea'utifuliy coloured from nature, both for the 
entertainment and instruction of the rising generation- And no exhi- 
bition occurs to our recollection, where a greater variety of useful and 
interesting paintings from life, can be seen more readily, and at less 

expence $ 



Critical Opinions of Dr. Mavor's Nepos. 

expence ; or to which the young, of all descriptions, may repair, with 
a certainty of receiving both pleasure and profit." 

From the Young Gentleman's and Lady's, Magazine^ for 
February, 1799. 
c< The selection is extremely judicious, and the execution is corre- 
spondent. The principles throughout are entitled to our unqualified' 
praise; and we have no doubt the author wrote with a view to the in- 
culcation of thofe maxims, civil, moral, and religious, which have 
raised Great Britain to such an exalted height among the nations of the 
earth, and the observance of which alone can perpetuate her glory and 
her prosperity. Did our limits permit, we should have been happy t<> 
have given one of the lives as a specimen •, but we have little doubt the 
whole will be read with avidity, and supersede the necessity of our 
recom mendation ." 

From the Ladies' Annual Register, -page- ISO. 

<c A work of this description has certainly been long wanted for the 
use of schools. It is a well-selected and correctly written series of 
lives, from that of Alfred the Grrat, to that of Howard the phi- 
lanthropist. We notice it in the Ladies 1 Annual Register, because we 
deem it an excellent book for the school- room, either in public semi- 
naries or private families " 

Ladies' Mhseum, February, 1799'. 

" The characters here exhibited are very happily compressed, and 
display a neatness surpassing any of our author's preceding labours. 
The selection is made with judgment, and the abstract of each life is 
a collection of traits so happily placed, as to have the best effect on 
young minds. In short, we have here a very instructive compilation, . 
for both old and young. It contains a great deal both of public and 
private history ; and to the rising generation the lessons it teaches, and 
the information it affords, are of the last importance, 1 ' 



This day is published > by the same Author y price $s. bound) 
of the same size as the British Nepos y 

A NATURAL HISTORY, 

FOR THE 

USE OF SCHOOLS: 

founded on the System of Linnaus, Buffon, Goldsmith) 
Pennant^ and Smellie, and decorated with Copper- 
plate representations of one hundred subjecJs, 



THE 



BRITISH NEPOS; 



CONSISTING OF 



SELECT LIVES OF ILLUSTRIOUS BRITONS> 



ALFRED THE GREAT. 

Born 849— Died about 900. 

IN whatever light we consider Alfred, whether as a 
legislator, a hero, or a king, we shall have reason to 
pronounce him one of the greatest and the best of men* 
We cannot, therefore, more properly commence this 
manual, which is intended as a mirror for youth, than 
by briefly recording his eventful life; — one of the 
earliest luminaries of this island, and the most brilliant 
example, perhaps, of talents, enterprise, patience, for- 
titude, and universal virtue, that the volume of history 
unfolds. 

This accomplished prince was the youngest son of 
Ethelwolf, and grandson of Egbert, under whom the 
kingdoms ©f the Saxon heptarchy seem to have beea 
firmly connected into one state. He was born at Wan- 
tage, in Berkshire, and gave early indications of those 
virtues and abilities which, in the sequel, were instru- 
mental in saving his country from utter subversion. His 
father, fitter for a monk than a king, and entertaining 
a profound veneration for the see of Rome, which in- 
creased with his years, carried this his favourite son to 

tho 



18 ALFRED. 

the papal court, when very young ; and soon after their 
return, again sent the young prince thither, with a splen- 
did retinue; where, a report being spread of the death 
of Ethelwolf, Leo III. gave him the royal unction* 
though still a boy, and, as the youngest of five brothers, 
very rempte from any prospect of a throne. It is pro- 
bable, however, that the pregnant genius of Alfred gave 
his holiness presages of future greatness ; or perhaps by 
this ceremony the pope meant to assume the power for- 
which his successors afterwards contended, of conferring 
kingdoms at his pleasure. The novelty and grandeur of 
the scenes which Rome displayed to? the youthful hero, 
made an impression on his mind which was never after- 
wards effaced ; and he profited more by his own quick- 
ness of apprehension than by the partiality of the pope, 
who had destined him to be a king. 

After his second return from Rome, his father made 
him the idol of his fondest but misguided affection. He 
indulged him in every pleasure ; and so neglected his 
education, that when he was twelve years of age he was 
still ignorant of the lowest elements of literature. His 
mother, having a taste for Saxon poetry, encouraged her 
son, by rewards adapted to his juvenile years, to commit 
some verses to memory. The noble and elevated senti- 
ments with which nature had endowed him were now 
roused into action; and, not satisfied with reciting, he. 
speedily learned to read his native tongue, and after- 
wards to acquire a knowledge of Latin, which opening 
new sources of mental improvement to him, fanned the 
ingenuous ardour that lay smothered in his breast* 

Ethelwolf divided his property and his kingdoms 
among his sons with impartial affection. Alfred, being 
exempted from the cares of sovereignty, devoted much 
of his time to the pursuits of literature. He had, how- 
ever, frequent opportunities of displaying his courage. 

against 



ALFRED. IQ 

against the Danes; and his three elder brothers dying 
after short reigns, he was appointed first minister and 
general of the armies to Etheldred,who next assumed the 
reins of government. In a battle fought soon after, 
Etheldred was mortally wounded ; and Alfred, in the 
twenty-second year of his age, was called, to his un- 
speakable regret, from learned leisure, in which he took 
the most sincere delight, to the defence, not to the enjoy- 
ment, of a crown. 

The Danes were ravaging the country far and near, 
and scarcely had he time to bury his brother, before he 
was obliged to take the field with inferior numbers. 
The enemy, however, accepted terms of accomoda- 
tion, and stipulated to depart the kingdom; but no 
sooner were they at a distance from a power to which 
they had reluctantly yielded, than they renewed their 
devastation; and fresh swarms pouring in from the 
North, they penetrated into Dorset, the very centre of 
Alfred's dominions. Again they were obliged to come 
to a treaty of the same purport as that which they had 
lately violated; but with singular perfidy seized the 
first opportunity of falling on Alfred's army, and, hav- 
ing put it to the rout, obtained possession of Exeter. 

The spirit of the prince rose with the dangers he was 
called to encounter. He collected new forces, and press- 
ed the foe with such vigour, that, after fighting eight 
battles in one year, he reduced them to the utmost ex- 
tremity. Still, however, the love of peace was supe- 
rior to a passion for military glory in the heart of Al- 
fred ; he listened to new overtures for accomodation, and 
insisted only that they should retire from his borders* 
and suffer no further importations of their countrymen. 
However, during the very execution of this liberal 
treaty, news was brought that a fresh band of marauders, 
had landed^ and surprised Chippenham,, then a town of 

some: 



20 , ALFRET5 

some importance, and were carrying fire and sword 
through the heart of the kingdom. 

This last calamity reduced the English to despair. 
Each thought of his own preservation, the authority of 
the king was disregarded, and all his eloquence and his 
heroism could not inspire them with resolution to make 
another effort in defence of their liberties and homes. 
In this dilemma Alfred prudently laid aside the ensigns 
of royalty, dismissed his attendants, and in the meanest 
attire endeavoured to conceal himself from the fury of 
his foes. History relates that he sought an asylum for 
some time with one of his own cowherds, whose wife f 
ignorant of the condition of her guest, left him one day 
in charge of some cakes which were toasting ; but the* 
mind of Alfred being intent on higher objects, he neg- 
le<5ted his trust, and suffered them to burn ; on which 
the honest housewife rated him soundly, and ©bserved r 
as he had no objection to eat her warm cakes, he might 
have taken some care in toasting them- Alfred was too 
magnanimous to resent this taunt : it doubtless excited 
only a smile. 

The Danes becoming less ardent in their pursuit, he 
retired into the isle of A.thelney, in Somersetshire, a spot 
formed by the fnundations of the Thone and the Parret, 
where he established himself; and gradually collecting a 
few of his most faithful adherents, whom he inspired 
with hopes of seeing better days, supported them in this 
sequestered and almost inaccessible retreat by occasional 
excursions in the environs. 

After lying twelve months in this concealment, medi- 
tating projedts of delivering his country, he was in- 
formed that a party of his followers had routed a consi- 
derable army of the Danes, killed their chiefs, and taken 
the famous raven, or enchanted standard. 

This omen of success inspired, him with fresh resolu- 
tion 



ALFRED. 21 

tion to take the field, and to discover himself to his sub- 
jects ; but prudently reflecting that caution should pre- 
cede enterprize, he disguised himself in the habit of a 
harper, and reconnoitered the enemy's camp in perfect 
security. His music and his facetious humours were 
so acceptable to the Danish prince, that he entertained 
him for some days, little suspecting the quality of his 
guest, or the hostile object of his visit. 

Finding the enemy sunk in supine security from their 
contempt of the English, he summoned his nobles to 
bring their followers into the field, and by his appear- 
ance reanimated their drooping courage, and inspired 
them with a desire of liberty or death. Immediately 
taking advantage of the popular impression, he led his 
army against the Danes, who panic-struck at this unex- 
pected attack, made but a feeble resistance ; and after 
great numbers of them were slain, the rest offered an 
unconditional submission, 

Alfred, no less generous than brave, formed a scheme 
for converting them from mortal enemies into faithful 
friends. He assigned them apart of the northern and 
eastern coasts, en condition that they would embrace 
Christianity, betake themselves to habits of industry, and 
form a rampart against any future incursions of their 
countrymen. This lenient and politic measure secured 
the peace of Alfred's reign for several years ; during 
which interval, he applied himself with patriotic zeal and 
diligence to perfect the civil and military institutions, to 
rebuild the ruined cities, particularly London, which 
had been cruelly sacked and destroyed, and to erect nu- 
merous castles and forts. At the same time availing 
himself of the insular situation of Britain, he first raised 
a navy ; which he instinctively foresaw would be the 
future bulwark of his realms. 

But, as ships are of little use without sailors, he pro* 

moted 



22 ALFRED. 

moted navigation by every possible means to secure a 
supply; and in time trained a body of men, courageous 
and hardy, and prompt, whenever called, to defend their 
native coasts from hostile aggression. Thus to Alfred 
we are indebted, not only for many wise and salutary 
institutions and establishments, which still have a sensi- 
ble influence on our laws and government, but most par- 
ticularly for cherishing a mode of defence to which we 
owe our principal glory and security. 

But so rapid seems to havebeen the increase of Scan- 
dinavian population for some centuries, that colonies 
were sent out from those extensive regions in quick suc- 
cession, either to seek new settlements, or to enrich their 
native country with the plunder of more southern na- 
tions. Accustomed to warfare, restrained by no ties, 
human or divine, these barbarians carried devastation 
wherever they went, and proved the terror and the 
scourge of countries with which they could have no 
quarrel, or plausible cause for enmity. 

Even the fame and prowess of Alfred could not, for 
any continuance of time, guard his coasts from viola- 
tion. The Danes tried to excel him in the art of naval 
war, and made frequent descents, in some of which they 
did considerable damage. On one occasion, however, 
when they had sailed up the Thames, and built a fort 
which curbed London, and numbers of their ships had 
been drawn up^the Lea, he contrived to divert the course 
of that river, and to leave them dry ; which extraordi- 
nary enterprise obliged the enemy to make a precipitate 
retreat. 

Still they returned with new means of annoyance ; and 
when they found themselves unable to cope with Al- 
fred's fleets in open fight, they carried on a piratical 
kind of warfare, more galling than any regular attack. 
A considerable number, however, of these freebooters 

7 having 



ALFRED, 23 

having been captured, they were brought to trial at 
Winchester, and justly sentenced to be hanged up as 
the common enemies of mankind. 

This instance of well-timed severity, added to the 
formidable naval and military force which Alfred now 
commanded, purchased tranquillity for the remainder of 
his reign. During the three last years he was at full 
leisure to devote his time and his talents to arts the most 
glorious for a king to cultivates he softened the fero- 
cious manners of his subjects by the encouragement 
which he gave to literature: he taught them the value 
of industry, by securing the possession of property, and 
diffusing prosperity and happiness over aland to which 
they had long been strangers. 

While engaged in these truly great and meritorious 
pursuits and occupations, he was arrested by the hand 
of death, in the vigour of his age, and the full strength 
of all his faculties, after a splendid reign of twenty-nine 
years and upwards; during which he had fought an al- 
most unparelleled number of battles with general suc- 
cess, and had deservedly acquired the titles of Great, 
and Founder of the English monarchy. 

Contrasted with the brightest ornaments, either of an- 
cient or modern times, the character of Alfred will ap- 
pear to advantage. Whether regarded as a citizen, a 
monarch, a legislator, or a hero, he will appear highly 
estimable, and presents the finest model for imitation 
that even the power of fancy could delineate. In him 
the virtues were so well tempered, and so justly blended, 
that none exceeded its proper limits. He possessed the 
most^enterprising spirit with the.coolest prudence; the 
most steady perseverance with the mildest flexibility; 
the most rigid justice with the gentlest mercy. He 
knew how to reconcile the vigour of authority with the 
arts that conciliate love; and to give the sovereign 

command 



24 ALFRED. 

command the air of a friendly request. With the high- 
est capacity, and the most ardent inclination for science, 
he united the most shining talents for action. His civil 
and military qualifications equally claim our admira- 
tion, and keep our judgment in suspense which ought 
the most to be the object of our applause. 

Nature too, as if anxious to produce a finished model 
of personal as well as intellectual excellence, had be- 
stowed on Alfred every attraction of form that can 
please the eye, or engage the heart. He was well made, 
active, and vigorous, dignified in his mien and air, with 
an open, engaging countenance, which never failed to 
attract regard. 

Eut the character of Alfred is too illustrious to be dis- 
missed without a more particular enumeration of its 
leading traits and brilliant energies; and to trace the 
origin of several of the most valuable privileges and 
wisest institutions in our country to this great man, will 
infallibly tend to render them honourable in our eyes, 
and attach us the more strongly to their observance. 

After he had repressed the incursions of the Danes, 
and internal tranquillity gave him an opportunity of ex- 
erting his talents for government with effect, he began 
with establishing the principles of justice. Having di- 
vided the counties throughout the kingdom into hun- 
dreds and tithings, and established that incomparable 
mode of trial by juries — the best security of our liberties, 
both personal and political; — in order to guide the ma- 
gistrates in the administration of justice, he framed a 
body of laws, which, though now lost, are not obsolete, but 
still operate in full force under the name of the common 
law ; an inestimable code of jurisprudence, by which 
the rights of individuals are most sacredly guarded and 
public and private delinquents rendered amenable to 
justice. 

2 And 



ALFRED. 25 

And though a convention of the states, on extraor- 
dinary emergencies, seems to have been of much earlier 
date than the reign of Alfred, yet to him we owe their 
regular periodical meetings, which he fixed twice a year 
in London; a city which he had himself repaired and 
beautified, and constituted the capital of his kingdom. 
In these sessions of parliament, laws were enacted by 
the advice and with the concurrence of the most en- 
lightened and distinguished subjects; while, on ordinary 
occasions, the monarch was directed by a kind of privy 
council, composed of some among the principal persons 
who attended his court. 

When Alfred mounted the throne, he found his peo- 
ple immerged in ignorance and barbarism. He himself 
complains that, on his accession, he could not find one 
person, south of the Thames, who was capable of trans- 
lating the Latin service into his mother- tongue. In 
every age, and among all nations, it has been found 
that purity of morals has kept pace with the propagation 
of sound knowledge and good principles. As a sove- 
reign, he saw it was his duty and his interest to promote 
a spirit of learning among his subjects, and his own ex- 
ample must have furnished a very powerful incentive. 
He not only excelled all the English of his time in ge- 
neral literature, but by encouraging learned foreigners to 
settle here, and by an impartial appreciation of merit, he 
rendered science both honourable and advantageous. 
He raised and endowed many schools ; and, if the illus- 
trious university of Oxford does not own him for its 
original founder, which is a point that has been disputed, 
it is generally allowed that to Alfred it is indebted for 
some df its most valuable privileges, and much of its 
early reputation and distinction. 

But as genius is a plant which does not always spring 

in a patrician soil, and as without the fostering hand of 

patronage it can seldom bring its fruit to perfection, this 

B sagacious 



26 ALFRED. 

sagacious monarch not only sowed the seeds of know- 
ledge, but he took care, when they appeared to rear 
them with parental attention. The vicious and the il- 
literate, whatever other distinctions they might claim, 
were never the objects of Alfred's regard; while merit 
and science engrossed, as they deserved, all his favour, 
and -every reward in his power to bestow. Indeed, this 
was the golden age of literature among the Anglo- 
Saxons: the harvest was abundant, and die labourers 
were not more than could obtain an ample recompense 
•for their toil. The penetrating mind of the sovereign 
qualified him to discriminate between real and specious 
claims to preferment; intrigue could not deceive him; 
interest was useless, when judgment, abilities; and pro- 
bity, were to decide the prize on account of virtue and 
talents. 

Of the private life of Alfred we have few memorials; 
but enough to shew that he was one of the most amiable 
men in every domestic relation that ever lived. Success 
could neither elevate him to the extravagance of joy, nor 
the heaviest calamities affect him with unmanly despair. 
He inspired his children with a portion of his own ge- 
nius, and qualified them for the important destinies to 
T/hich they were born. To his friends he was open, 
cheerful, and communicative: to his enemies he shewed 
no resentment after they were disarmed ; to his country 
he was a truly parental guardian. A remarkable econo- 
mist of his time, he devoted one part to sleep and the 
refection of his body by diet and exercise; another to 
the dispatch of business; and the third to study and de- 
votion. And as, in those rude times, the art of mea- 
suring hours was very imperfect, he invented tapers of 
equal length, which he fixed in lanterns; and when one 
was burnt out, it warned him that a new avocation 
awaited him. 

By this wise distribution of his time, though subject to 

frequent 



ALFRED. 27 

-frequent interruptions of health, and though he was 
obliged to fight ill person fifty-six battles by sea and land, 
he acquired more knowledge, and composed more books, 
some of which are still extant, in a life of no extraordi- 
nary length, than many possessed of genius and leisure, 
with all their laborious researches, have been able to per- 
form in more fortunate ages, though letters were the 
sole object of their pursuit. 

Yet, as the welfare and comforts of society are not 
promoted only by literature, but also by the cultivation 
of humbler arts which come into daily use, and are 
equally necessary to all, he did not neglect to encourage 
mechanical industry; and no inventor or improver of 
whatever could tend to embellish life, or add to its con- 
veniences, was suffered to go unrewarded. He likewise 
introduced and encouraged manufactures ; and by his 
zeal for naval and commercial enterprize first taught his 
subjects the art of defending themselves at home, and 
the advantages of an interchange of produce and labour 
with foreign countries. 

. And, lastly, to complete the character of this great 
hero, king, and scholar, he was temperate, pious, and 
devout. Knowing that states must rise or fall by their 
attention to religion, or the neglect of its precepts, he 
re-edified and restored almost every monastery in his do- 
minions, which the fury of the Danes had brought to 
ruin; he also founded and improved others, and gave 
many substantia] proofs of his regard for the welfare of 
the church in all its component parts. 

Thus, in the latter part of the reign of Alfred, justice 
was purely administered, religion and its professors were 
respected, and the nation flourished in peace, happiness, 
and security. The vigour of Alfred's genius pervaded 
every department of the state. It is even said, the police 
was so excellent, that golden bracelets were hung up f 
near the highways, and no one dared to touch them; 
B2 yet 



28 FRIAR BACON. 

yet amidst this firm support of legal authority, Alfred 
preserved the most inviolable regard to the liberties and 
constitutional rights of his people. His last will, among 
other pathetic passages and bequests to posterity, con- 
tains this ever-memorable sentiment, the best pledge of 
his being a truly patriot king, "** That it was just the 
English should for ever remain as free as their own thoughts ." 



FRIAR BACON. 

Born 1214— Died 1294. 

From 1 5th John — 22d Edward I. 

AMONG those who have displayed superior abilities 
and penetration, in an age when the gloom of igno- 
rance was too thick to be pierced by common minds, the 
illustrious Friar Bacon will ever obtain a distinguished 
rank. At any period, the vigour of his endowments 
would have raised him above the mass of common men: 
at the period in which he lived, his high attainments in 
knowledge, contrasted with the prevailing general stupi- 
dity, render him an object of profound respect, and chal- 
lenge the applause and admiration of all posterity. 

Roger Bacon was born near Uchester, in Somerset- 
shire, of respectable parentage, in the year J 21 4. He 
began his literary career at Oxford ; and thence removed 
to the university of Paris, then reckoned the grand cen- 
tre of science and learning. Here the lustre of his ta- 
lents began to be distinguished; and his progress in the 
sciences rendered him the ornament of that university, 
and gained him some very valuable friends. He was 
particularly caressed by his amiable and learned country, 
man, Robert Grosthead, afterwards Bishop of Lincoln, 
whose patronage at once gave and reflected honour. 

About 



FIUAR EACON. 2Q 

About the twenty-sixth year of his age, having ac- 
quired all the learning of the times, only, however, to 
detect its fallacy, and to substitute something better in 
its room, he returned to Oxford, and assumed the Fran- 
ciscan habit. The learned leisure that this situation 
allowed him, he devoted to the ardent prosecution of 
experimental philosophy, his favourite study, in which 
he expended considerable sums, and made very impor- 
tant discoveries. 

Like his immortal namesake, Francis Bacon, who 
was born in happier days, he emancipated himself from 
the trammels of the existing philosophy, pierced the 
subtleties of the scholastic divinity with an intuitive per- 
spicacity, and had so little respect for the reigning ab- 
surdities, though rendered venerable by time, that he 
declared the whole works of Aristotle were fit only to 
be burned. 

By his extraordinary talents and astonishing progress 
in sciences then concealed from the rest of the world, 
or only known to a distinguished few, he could not fail 
to awaken envy, the constant attendant on worth and 
genius; and his illiterate fraternity, having neither sense 
nor diligence sufficient to keep pace with his discoveries, 
and unable to brook his intellectual superiority, possess- 
ed the vulgar with a notion, that he maintained an in- 
tercourse with the agents of darkness. 

Under this ridiculous pretence, which convinces us 
how much his attainments were above the level of com- 
mon understandings, he was restrained from reading 
lectures; his writings were confined to his convent; 
and, finally, when he nad reached the sixty-fourth year 
of his age, he was imprisoned in his cell. 

Still, however, being indulged with the use of his 

books, he did not suiter his mind to be diverted from the 

great object of his inquiries; he extended his know- 

ledge, he corrected his former labours, and he aug- 

B 3 mented 



30 rniAR BACON. 

merited them by some new and curious disquisitioiiSe 
His opus majus, or great work, which is still extant, 
had been prepared at the request of Clement IV. : and 
after lying ten years in confinement, he addressed a 
treatise to Pope Nicholas IV, " On the Means of avoid- 
ing the Infirmities of old Age," and importuned that 
pontiiF for his release. The effect of this application is 
unknown: it^ certainly was not immediately regarded ; 
but being backed in the sequel by several persons of 
distinction, Bacon was at length set free, and spent in 
tranquillity the remainder of his days, in the college of 
his order, at Oxford; where he departed this life, in the 
eightieth year of his age, on the 11th of January, 1294. 

Such are the few particulars which the most inquisi- 
tive have been able to discover concerning this honour 
of his country and pride of human nature, w^ho darted 
forth his light in the midst of monastic bigotry, like a 
bright star in a dark hemisphere. He was incomparably 
the greatest philosopher of his time, and in many re- 
spects may stand in competition with the most eminent 
of more enlightened ages. His writings are elegant, 
terse, and nervous, and adorned with such exquisite ob- 
servations on nature, that he may be said to have un- 
locked her treasury. In chemistry he stood unrivalled ; 
and, according to Dr. Frend, almost every useful inven- 
tion and operation which modern practice has adopted in 
this science, may be traced to its origin in his various 
works. He describes the preparation of gunpowder in 
the most precise terms ; yet the Jesuit Barthol Schwartz, 
who lived several ages after, must, doubtless, be allow- 
ed the honovr of pointing out the destructive purposes to 
which this composition may be applied. 

In short, from an attentive perusal of the works of 
this great luminary, it will be found that Bacon was a 
linguist and grammarian ; that he was well versed in the 
theory and practice of perspective ; that he understood 

the 



FEIAR BACONS 31 

the use and manufacture of convex and concave glasses ; 
that die camera obscura^ the burning-glass, and the tele- 
scope, were familiar to him ; that he was intimately 
acquainted with geography and astronomy; that he was 
aware of the great error in the calendar, assigned the 
cause and proposed the remedy ; that he was an adept 
in chemistry, and possessed great knowledge of the heal- 
ing art ; in fine, that he was an able mathematician, an 
expert mechanic, a sound logician, and a rational the- 
©legist. 

But with all his acquirements, solid and valuable as 
they are, much dross was necessarily mixed. This how- 
ever was the fault! of the age, and not of the man. — 
Judicial astrology was then in high repute, and Bacon 
was a dupe to all its illusions. " 

He tells us in one place, that life may be preserved 
hy spermaceti, aloes, and dragon's flesh; and that im- 
mortality itself may be secured by the philosopher's 
stone. These were the reveries of the times : in some 
respects it was impossible to submit them to the test of 
experiment, and theory alone will ever be vague. He 
seems to have been unacquainted with that noble dis- 
covery the polarity of the; magnetic needle ; but he has 
largely descanted on the hazel-twig of divination. 

" Yet notwithstanding some absurdities and chimeras, 
this Bacon," says Voltaire, " must be allowed to be a 
very great man for the age in which he lived. Imagine 
to yourself the Samoieds and Ostiacs to have read 
Aristotle and Avicen, and you will have an idea of 
what mankind then were. At that period all knowledge 
was confined to the Arabians, who were the philosophers 
of Christendom. The king's fool," adds this witty 
author, " was always a native; but the physician or 
doctor was either an Arabian or a Jew." 

B * JOHN 



( 32 ) 

JOHN W1CKLIFF. 

Born about 1324— Died 1384. 
From \7th Edward II— 7 th Richard II. 

IF we trace many of the greatest events and the most 
important discoveries to their source, we shall have 
the satisfaction to reflect, that some of the most astonish- 
ing and beneficial, which history records, have in a 
great measure originated from our illustrious country- 
men; among whom Wickliifwill maintain just celebrity, 
as long as a love of truth and a detestation of imposture 
and intolerance shall actuate the human heart. 

This precursor of the reformation, which Luther and 
others had the honour of completing, was a native of 
WicklifF, near Richmond, in Yorkshire ; but of his family 
or his early years, we have no account. Being designed 
for the church, he was first sent to Queen's college, Ox- 
ford ; but, the advantages for study in that newly esta- 
blished house not answering his expectations, he removed 
to Merton college in the same university, then esteemed 
one of the most learned societies in Europe. 
, At that period, a deep skill in dialectics and an in- 
timate acquaintance with the scholastic divinity were the 
grand passports to fame. To a man of Wickliff's pene- 
trating genius, these " difficult trifles" soon gave way; 
and he quickly became a very subtle disputant, and 
reigned in the schools without a competitor. It is pro- 
bable, however, that he mastered the fashionable studies 
only to detect their fallacy and insignificance. In di- 
vinity he appears to have early chalked out a simpler 
path than any of his contemporaries had either the sense 
or the resolution to devise ; he drew his tenets from the 
scriptures alone, and rejected the glosses of the school- 
men, and the dogmas of authority. 

Having 



JOHN WICKLIFF. 33 

Having made himself conspicuous by his defence of 
the university against the mendicant friars, who pleaded 
that their practice was of gospel institution, he acquired 
the reputation of a man of profound learning and abili- 
ties; and in consequence was chosen master of Baliol hall 
and soon after warden of Canterbury college, by its 
founder, Archbishop Islip. A schism had for some time 
agitated that society, which was composed of regulars 
and seculars; and though its head how belonged to the 
latter order, this did not give such a preponderance as to 
ensure quiet. Some regulars, who had been ejected by 
the founder, taking advantage of the promotion of Simon 
Langham to the primate's chair, a man who had been 
bred up with all the monastic prejudices, found a zealous 
patron in this quondam monk; and sentence of expul- 
sion was passed on WicklifF and his associates in their 
turn. 

Such a flagrant piece of injustice raised a general out- 
cry, and WicklifF was advised to prefer an appeal to the 
Pope: but through the manoeuvres of Langham, and 
the irresolute policy of Urban, after the business had 
been protracted to a great length, the ejectment was con- 
firmed. 

On such casual pivots the minds of men turn, that the 
virtue of pure principle is scarcely to be expected. There 
can be little doubt but this decision finally determined 
WicklifF in his opposition to the holy see; yet it must 
not be concealed, that in his previous writings he had 
inveighed freely against the exactions and corruptions 
of the papal court; and now the whole strength of his 
excellent understanding was directed to expose its errors, 
and to lessen its influence. 

Notwithstanding his expulsion 1 , his credit with the 

university was not lost. He took his degree of doctor 

in divinity with much eclat ; and the professor's chair 

in that science being vacant, he was chosen to fill it, not 

B 5 only 



34 JOHN WICKLIFF. 

only in compliment to his acknowledged merit, but as a 
remuneration for his4oss. 

Wickliffhad now attained the summit of his ambition. 
His station afforded him the opportunity he had been 
anxiously looking for, of throwing new lights on the 
established religion of Europe. His reason and his re- 
flexion convinced him, that the Romish religion was re- , 
plete with errors in theory, and that the lives of its pro- 
fessors were still worse in pra&ice. His inveteracy 
against the monks was inflamed, and he omitted no op- - 
portunity of painting them in their genuine cblours of 
infamy — But amidst all his zeal for truth, and his an- 
tipathy against the interested supporters of a false and 
domineering religion, he proceeded with caution and 
circumspe&ipn. He first led his hearers into habits of 
argumentation; and artfully raised objections, rather 
that others might see through delusion, than that he 
might have the credit and danger of exposing it himself. 

When he had accustomed men to think, he attempted 
a higher flight; and taught them to think justly. He 
removed the veil of prejudice by gradual but reiterated 
efforts ; he let in the light by degrees, and in such pro- 
portions as he found the eyes of a nation, so long used to 
darkness, could endure it. Though of a known hostility 
to the encroachments of Rome, its most zealous parti- 
sans had some difficulty in finding out a plausible pre- 
text to silence him ; but at last they^ucceeded so far 
as to deprive him of his professorship, and probably in- 
dulged the hopes that, as the theatre o&his exertion was 
closed, his principles would soon be forgotten. 

It happened, however, otherwise. The insolence of 
the Pope in claiming from Edward III. the homage 
which had been paid by his weak predecessor John, 
roused the indignant feelings of John of Gaunt, duke of 
Lancaster; who, during the decline of his father, had 
the principal diredion of affairs; and th&peaofWickliff 

was 



JOHN WICKLIFF. 35 

was successfully exerted in defence of his sovereign and 
his fellow-subje&s. v 

This was the means of introducing him to court- and 
the duke of Lancaster, who had liberal notions in reli- 
gion for the time in which he lived, and was irritated by 
recent vexations from the clergy, seeing their animosity 
against WickliiF, took him under his prote&ion; and 
treated him with a Jkindness proportioned to the enmity 
which he bore his adversaries. 

The grievances of the nation from the papal domina- 
tion had reached such a height, that it was resolved to 
send an embassy to the Pope to treat for the liberties of 
the church of England. At the head of this mission, 
which proceeded to Bruges, were the bishop of Bangor 
and Dr. WickliiF. On the part of the see of Rome were 
men in whom it could wholly confide. The negotia- 
tion was carried on with great abilities on, both sides; 
and after its sittings had been protra&ed for two years, 
the English agents prevailed so far, as to gain a stipula* 
tion that his holiness should no longer dispose of any be- 
nefices in, England. This treaty, however, was eluded 
to a flagrant degree ; but, in consequence of the abilities 
which WickliiF had displayed in it, he was presented by 
the kingto the living of Lutterworth in Leicestershire, 
and soon after obtained a prebendal stall in the church 
of Westbury in the county of Gloucester,.. 

During his residence at Bruges, the views of the 
church of Rome had been gradually developed to the 
inquisitive and penetrating WickliiF; and he discovered 
it to be as corrupt in principle, as he had long known it 
to be depraved -in practice. He now threw off the mask 
which he had worn so long; and thought it unworthy of 
his chara&er to temporize. The pretended successor of 
Peter himself did not escape his inve&ives:. the ponti- 
fical infallibility, usurpations, pride, avarice, and tyranny 
were the frequent topics of his declamation; and the ap- 
B 6 propriate 



36 



JOHN WICKLIFF. 



propriate epithet of Anti-Christ seems to have been first 
conferred on him by this proto English reformer. 

Having sown the seed which he had reason to believe 
would ripen into a full harvest of shame to the church 
of Rome, he retired to his living in Leicestershire, in 
order to avoid the gathering storm. But his privacy, 
and his distance from Oxford, the scene of his honour- 
able labours, gave his enemies fresh, spirits. A papal 
bull was forwarded to Sudbury archbishop of Canter- 
bury, and Courtney bishop of London, to secure this 
arch-heretic ; and at the same time the king and the uni- 
versity were importuned to favour the prosecution. 

WicklifF being cited to appear before the bishop of 
London at St. Paul's, on a fixed day, found himself 
obliged to notice the unexpected summons. In this 
dilemma, he applied to his patron the duke of Lancaster, 
who, though he wished to screen him wholly, judged it 
expedient to sacrifice something to appearances, and only 
promised to attend him in person to his trial, accompa- 
nied by Percy, earl marshal of England. When they 
reached St. Paul's, the court was already convened, and 
there was some difficulty in procuring admission. The 
bishop piqued to see WicklifF so honourably attended* 
let fall some peevish expressions, which the high-spirited 
and indignant Lancaster being unable to brook, retort- 
ed with great warmth, and even began to threaten. 
" Sooner," said he, in a kind of half-whisper, " than 
bear such usage from a bishop, I v/ill pull him by 
the hair of the head out of the church." The populace, 
however, catching the menace, the whole assembly was 
instantly in a ferment. The general cry was, They 
would stand by their diocesan to the last breath; and 
the confusion rose to such a height, that the court broke 
up in disorder, and its proceedings were never resumed. 

The tumult, however, did not end so soon. The 
duke 3 in the agitation of his passions, immediately pro- 

ceeded 



JOHN WICKLIFF. 37 

ceeded to the house of peers, where he preferred a bill 
to deprive the city of London of its privileges, and to 
alter its jurisdiction. In consequence of this, all was 
uproar and riot; and Lancaster was obliged to quit the 
city in precipitation, till the rage of the populace had 
subsided. 

Wickliff again sought the retirement of Lutterworth, 
and proceeded in his great work, a translation of the 
Scriptures into English. He appears to have met with 
no more molestation after this, till' the death of Edward 
III. when Richard II. son of Edward the Black Prince, 
only eleven years of age, ascended the throne of his 
grandfather. 

On this occasion, the duke of Lancaster, uncle to the 
young king, aspired to be sole regent; but parliament 
put the office into commission, and allowed him only a 
single voice in the executive power. The clergy, who 
perceived the diminished influence of the duke, began 
their prosecution against Wickliff anew. Articles of 
accusation were drawn up, and the Pope by several 
bulls, had ordered his imprisonment, or at least cited 
him to make his personal appearance at Rome, within 
the space of three months, unless he should retract his 
heretical opinions. 

The bulls were treated with neglect in general, and 
by parliament with contempt. The bishop of London 
alone entered into the letter and spirit of the pope's 
mandate ; but scarcely had he taken the preliminary 
steps in this business, when he received a peremptory 
order from the duke of Lancaster not to enforce impri- 
sonment for the sake of opinion only, as a measure con- 
trary to the laws of England. 

The bishop, intimidated at this interference, contented 

himself with citing Wickliff to a provincial synod, at 

Lambeth; where being questioned as to the articles of 

his faith, he gave such an ambiguous "explanation of 

Q them, 



38 JOHN WXCKLIFF, 

them, as proves, that, however sincere he was in his be- 
lief, he felt but little ambition to gain the crown of mar- 
tyrdom. He was therefore dismissed, with an injunction 
not to preach any more those doctrines which had been 
objected to him; but his zeal, it appears, was inflamed 
by the coercion, and he afterwards enforced his tenets 
with more ardour than before. 

Falling into a dangerous illness at Oxford, some of 
the begging friars, to whom he had ever been an enemy,, 
intruded themselves, it is said, into his chamber, and 
'warned him, for the good of his soul, to repent of the 
injuries he had done them, Wickliff raised himself 
from his bed, and, with a stern countenance, exclaimed,, 
" I shall not die, but live to declare the evil deeds of 
the friars j" which resolute expression, we are told,, 
drove away his ghostly monitors m confusion. 

Soon after this, having finished his translation of the* 
Scriptures, he again became particularly obnoxious to* 
the clergy on that very account. It had long been a 
politicaJ tenet in the Romish creed, " that ignorance is> 
the mother of devotion," and therefore the bible had 
been locked up from the common people. But Wickliff 
was not satisfied with aiming this new blow at religious 
tyranny : he next ventured to assail the grand article of 
transubstantiation, in what he called his sixteen conclusions*,. 
These conclusions being reluctantly condemned by the* 
chancellor of Oxford, at the instigation of Courtney, who- 
was now primate; Wickliff appealed to the king andi 
parliament: but being deserted by his fickle patron, the- 
duke of Lancaster, who was unwilling to embroil him- 
self any farther with the clergy, he was obliged to make 
a kind «of recantation at Oxford; and, by the king's or- 
der, was expelled the university ; where, it seems, till' 
then he had annually read lectures in divinity. 

Again he found an asylum at Lutterworth; but giv- 
ing fresh provocation by his writings, he roused the keen- 
est 



GEOFFERY CHAUCER. 3$ 

est resentment in Urban, who then wore the tiara; and 
in all probability would have suffered the utmost that his 
power could inflict, had not Providence delivered him 
from human hands. He was struck with a palsy soon 
after, but still attended divine worship, till a repetition 
of this fatal malady carried him off, in his church, at 
Lutterworth, in December, 1384. He was buried there 5 
but, after lying more than forty years unmolested, his 
bones were taken up and burn!:, and the ashes scattered 
in the stream, by order of the reigning pope ! 

Such was the life and end of WieklifF, a man who 
may be regarded as one of the brightest ornaments of his 
country, and as one of those luminaries which Provi- 
dence raises up and directs as* its instrument to enlighten 
and bless mankind. 

" To this intuitive genius/' says Gilpin, " Christen- 
dom was unquestionably more obliged than to any name 
in the list of reformers. He opened the gates of dark- 
ness, and let in, not a feeble and glimmering ray, but 
such an effulgence of light as was never afterwards ob- 
scured. He not only loosened prejudices, but advanced 
such clear incontestible truths, as, having once obtained 
footing, still kept their ground ; and even in an age of 
reformation, as will appear from his various existing 
writings, wanted but small amendment/* 



GEOFFERY CHAUCER. 

Born 1328.— Died 1400, 

From 2d Edward III— 2d Edward IV. 

HOEVER loves to hold dalliance with the 
Muses, and Relights to rove through the regions 
of fancy, will contemplate with pleasure the character 

of 



w 



40 GEOFFERY CHAUCER. 

of Geoffery Chaucer, not only as the father of English 
poetry, and a refiner of the English language, but as one 
of the brightest and most original geniuses that any age 
or country has produced. 

Though Chaucer was extolled in the highest terms of 
panegyric by his contemporaries, and has deservedly 
maintained his reputation with posterity, from some 
strange fatality we know nothing certain of his parent- 
age, though it probably was genteel ; and even the place 
of his birth is not perfectly ascertained. In his " Testa- 
ment of Love," he call himself a Londoner; but Wood- 
stock, his future residence, puts in its claim to the ho- 
nour also of being his native place ; and he certainly has 
rendered it classic ground, by his natural but poetical 
description of some of its most delightful scenes. 

The same uncertainty, that attends the history of his 
birth, attends that of his education. Whether he studied 
at Oxford or Cambridge, or at both universities succes- 
sively, is a point much disputed by his biographers ; nor 
can any new light be thrown, at this day, on the sub- 
ject. That his education was excellent for that age, 
can scarcely be doubted, from the learning displayed in 
his works ; but that his genius rose still superior to all 
the advantages of scholastic or academic institution will 
admit of no dispute. 

Having left the university, he is supposed to have 
improved himself by travelling into France and the Low 
Countries ; and on his return, it is partly ascertained that 
he entered himself a member of the Inner Temple, and 
for some time prosecuted the study of the law. In a 
record of this society, published by Speight, the follow- 
ing fact appears : " Geoffery Chaucer was fined two 
shillings, for beating a friar, in Fleet-street." 

But, though he might probably pay some attention to 
law-learning as an' accomplishment there is no reason 
to think that he ever practised it as a profession. The 
sprightliness of his genius, the elegance of his form and 

manners. 



GEOFFERY CHAUCER. 41 

manners, and the fertility of his endowments, seem 
early to have attracted the notice of the court ; and he 
particularly devoted himself to the service of John of 
Gaunt, duke of Lancaster, son of Edward III. by whose 
favour he obtained in marriage Philippa, daughter of 
Sir Pagan Rouet, and sister of the famous Lady Cathe- 
rine Swynford, first governess to the duke's children, 
and afterwards his wife. 

Chaucer was then in the flower of his age, admired 
for his beauty, and distinguished for every talent and ac- 
complishment that could render him acceptable in the 
gay and splendid court of Edward III. As that monarch 
frequently resided at Woodstock, Chaucer had a house 
near the park gate, which still retains his name, though 
it has been entirely rebuilt and modernized; and here it 
is probable he penned some of his happiest compositions. 
After serving for some time in quality of the king's 
page, he w r as named in a commission to treat with the . 
republic of Genoa, for the hiring of some ships; and on 
his return he obtained, among other marks of royal fa- 
vour, the grant of a pitcher of wine daily. Next year 
he was made comptroller of the customs of London, for 
wool and hides ; with a singular proviso, that he should 
execute that office personally, and keep the accounts in 
his own hand-writing : a proof, that Edward did not 
promote him for his poetical talents, or he would cer- 
tainly have employed him in a different situation. 

Soon after this, Chaucer obtained a wardship; and it 
appears that his income at that period was not less than 
1000 pounds per annum, a sum which in those days, 
enabled him to support a splendid hospitality congenial 
to his disposition, and to enjoy that otium cum dignitate 
which it is so rarely the lot of a poet to possess. 
It was in this meridian sunshine of prosperity that he 
% wrote his " Canterbury Tales," a poem which exhibits 
a striking variety of talents, an union of the sublime and 

the 



42 GEOFFERY CHAUCER, 

the pathetic, with such a fund of poignant satire, ge- 
nuine humour and knowledge of life, as is seldom paral- 
leled. The clergy, both regular and secular, are the fre- 
quent butt of his keenest animadversions ; and by this 
most probably he aimed to ingratiate himself the more 
with his patron, the duke of Lancaster, who had openly 
espoused the cause of WicklifF. But as the flame of 
genius can with difficulty be separated from a love of 
liberty, Chaucer himself appears to have entered passion- 
ately into the views of that reformer ; a conduct, how-* 
ever, which in the sequel involved him in much trouble. 
When the duke of Lancaster found himself obliged ta 
abandon the Wicklifrites, and to retire from public life 
for a time, the interest of Chaucer sank at once, and he 
became from that instant exposed to all the malice of 
the opposite party.. These misfortunes gave rise to that 
beautiful performance, called the " Testament of Love," 
written in imitation of Boethius " on the Consolation 
of Philosophy." Satiated with the active scenes of life, 
which had defrauded him of so many enjoyments, he 
retired to Woodstock, where he again indulged his 
passion for study, and revised his former productions*. 
Here he finished his admirable " Treatise on the Astro* 
labe," and became so rivetted to his rural retreat, that 
even the return of the duke of Lancaster to favour and 
power, and the marriage of that great man with the sis- 
ter of his (the poet's) wife, could not seduce him from 
the tranquil scenes he loved. 

And now the sun of prosperity, which had shone full 
on his meridian, again warmed his evening hour. Chau- 
cer, by this last-mentioned alliance, acquired considera- 
ble property and influence : and, when about seventy- 
years of age, we find him quitting. Woodstock, for Don- 
aington Castle, near Newbury. 

Not long after, Henry IV. son of the duke of Lan~ 
Caster, mounted the throne, and™ the first year of mV 

rek^. 



GEOFFERY CHAUCER. N 43 

reign conferred some marks of his regard on our poet. 
Chaucer's former grants, however* being annulled, in 
common with all others passed in the late reign, the 
venerable bard, in the concluding scene of his life, was 
obliged to become a solicitor at court for a renewal of 
his pensions ; and though he succeeded to a certain de- 
gree, the fatigue of attendance, and his great age, pre- 
vented him from enjoying long the royal favours. Fall- 
ing sick at London, he quitted the stage of mortal life, 
October 25th, 1400, in the seventy-second year of his 
age, with a kind of enviable philosophical composure, as 
appears from his songCx : " File from the Pre/e. y> 

Chaucer was buried in Westminster Abbey, where, 
in 1556, a monument was erected to his memory, by 
Nicholas Brigham, of Oxford, from a just regard for 
his talents. He left two sons, Thomas and Lewis ; the 
former of whom was speaker of the house of commons, 
in the reign of Henry IV. and passed through several 
Other high offices with reputation and applause. 

The private character of Chaucer appears to have 
been asv amiable as his literary attainments were illus- 
trious. — Genteel and complaisant in his manners and ad- 
dress, frank and liberal in his disposition, he was at once 
the fine gentleman, the easy boon companion, and the 
learned writer. 

On his poetical and other literary qualifications it is 
unnecessary to expatiate here. He was indeed the first 
person in England to whom the appellation of a poet, 
in its genuine dignity, could be with propriety applied* 
He attempted every species of versification, from tire 
epigram to the epic, and he was eminently successful in 
all. 



CARDINAL 



( 44 ) 
CARDINAL WOLSEY. 

Bom 1471— Died about 1530 
From 10th Edward IV— 21 st Henri/ VIII. 

TO repress the aspirings of inordinate ambition, to 
silence the murmurs of neglected merit, and to 
pourtray the instability of fortune and the vicissitudes 
of human life in their most striking colours, let us attend 
to the proud career and chequered fate of Wolsey. 

This man, who afterwards rose to be archbishop of 
York, chancellor of England, cardinal priest of St. 
Cicily, and legate a latere, &c. &c. was the son of a 
butcher at Ipswich. It is probable, however, that his 
parents possessed some property, and more discernment; 
for perceiving the bent of his disposition to literature, 
they put him early to the grammar school ; and such 
was the maturity of his parts, that he had taken the de- 
gree of bachelor of arts at Magdalen College, Oxford, 
before he reached his fifteenth year, whence he obtained 
the appellation of the Boy Bachelor. Soon after, he 
was admitted to a fellowship in the same college, and 
in due time nominated to the superintendance of the 
school belonging to that society. 

This situation, which is too frequently the grave of 
genius, and the bar to promotion, proved to Wolsey the 
original source of his future exaltation. At this seminary 
were three sons of the marquis of Dorset ; and it is rea- 
sonable to suppose that a man of Wolsey's ambitious 
character was not inattentive to the advantages he might 
derive from such pupils. He assiduously attended to 
their education, and ingratiated himself so far with both 
parent and sons, that he obtained an invitation to the 
country seat of the marquis, during a recess ; and by 
his insinuating planners, his knowledge and his address, 

paved 



CARDINAL WOLSEY. 45* 

paved the way to more substantial marks of favour. By 
this nobleman he was presented, in his twenty-ninth 
year, to the rectory of Lymington, in Somersetshire, his 
first ecclesiastical preferment; where he immediately 
entered on his new function as a parish-priest. 

Here, it is said, the gaiety of his disposition, sometimes 
led him into excesses, and that in consequence he was 
once sentenced to the stocks. This disgusted him with 
the country; and the justice, who had ordered a punish- 
ment so disgraceful to a divine, had afterwards abundant 
reason to repent of his severity. 

Wolsey's patron dying soon after, he quitted his re- 
sidence at Lymington, and projected new means of 
pushing his fortune. Accordingly we find him, in a 
short time, promoted to be a chaplain to Dr. Dean, 
archbishop of Canterbury, which, however, served rather 
to enlarge his views than conduce to his immediate 
advancement. It appears, indeed, that the archbishop 
was extremely partial to him, and assisted to make him 
better known ; but he did not live long enough to re- 
ward Wolsey's assiduities, and the latter was again 
afloat in life. 

Having now been introduced to the great, he felt his 
native propensities roused, and ambition stimulated him 
to be a courtier. An observation frequently made by 
him was, " that if he could but set one foot in the court, 
he would soon introduce his whole body." A man of 
1 abilities and an aspiring temper, who directs the whole 
vigour of his mind to one point, will seldom be finally 
unsuccessful. Wolsey, having lost his patron the arch- 
bishop, next tendered his services to Sir John Nephant, 
treasurer of Calais, a gentleman in high favour with 
Henry VII. The application was well received. Sir 
John not only made him his chaplain, but being debi- 
litated by age and infirmities, and finding Wolsey's 
aptitude for business, he committed to him the principal 

direction 



4G CARDINAL WOLSEY. 

direction of his office; and in the sequel recommended 
him in such strong terms of approbation to the king, 
that his majesty put him on the list of his royal chap- 
lains. 

Being now landed in the haven of his wishes, he 
assiduously cultivated the acquaintance of the reigning 
favourites, Fox bishop of Winchester, and Sir Thomas 
Lovel, by whom he was zealously patronized ; and soon 
after recommended to the king as a person excellently 
qualified to conduct an important negotiation with the 
emperor Maximilian, who then resided at Bruges. 

Being entrusted with this business, he managed it with 
such address, and brought it so expeditiously to a suc- 
cessful conclusion, that the king was astonished at his 
political sagacity and prompt decision. The founda- 
tion of his fame and future promotion was now effectu- 
ally laid; and, as an earnest of the esteem in which he 
was held at court, soon after his return from this em- 
bassy he was made dean of Lincoln. 

The death of H^nry VII. happened in the following 
year ; but Wolsey, who had courted the rising sun, lost 
no ground by the accession of Henry VIII. ; on the 
contrary, he found himself more distinguished than be- 
fore. In 1510 he was admitted of the king's privy 
council, made canon of Windsor, and registrar of the or- 
der of the garter, besides reaping other tokens of the 
royal favour. Thus firmly seated, with the gratitude 
of a courtier, he neglected those worthy and deserving 
friends who had contributed to his advancement, and in 
a manner concentrated in himself the beams of royal 
beneficence. 

Henry, attached" to pleasure with the most youthful 
ardour, averse to application, yet impatient of controul, 
was charmed with a servant who could cater for his gra- 
tification, exonerate him from toil, and yet submit to his 
caprices without a murmur. A war with France being 

resolved 



CARDINAL WOLSEY. 47 

resolved on, to Wolsey was committed the direction of 
providiivg the supplies for the army ; and his zeal and 
activity in this new situation were as conspicuous as his 
knowledge was extensive. 

Henry landed in France accompanied by Wolsey, 
and on the capture of Tournay the favourite was made 
bishop of that city. The campaign was glorious ; but 
a treaty being soon concluded, at Lisle, the English 
Teturned ; and in the subsequent year Wolsey was pro- 
moted, first to the see of Lincoln, and then to the arch- 
bishopric of York. 

The stream of royal favour had flowed with such a 
full tide on Wolsey, that the pope thought it politic to 
conciliate the favour of a man whose interest and income 
were now immense ; and to complete his exaltation, in 
1515 his holiness sent him a cardinal's hat. 

The pride and ostentation of Wolsey on the acquisi- 
tion of this new dignity deserved ridicule rather than 
respedt. Even in those days, when the people were 
more captivated by show than in the present, they could 
not refrain from making merry at the cardinal's expence ; 
but Warehanu uicellor and metropolitan of Can- 

terbury, felt the conflict for pre-eminence with this up- 
t so humiliating, that he resigned the seals, and left 
him without a rival m power and dignity. 

Wolsey was immediately appointed his successor, and 
thmrew promotion did not lessen his former parade. Yet 
it must be acknowledged, that in his new omce he dis- 
played a pene-ratiu^ judgment, and a deep and enlarged 
acquaintance with law and equity. 

Cardinal Campeggio, the pope's legate, having about 
this time rendered himself unacceptable to Henry VIII. 
Wolsey had this high rank superadded to his other dig- 
nities, by the holy see. He had now gained all that a 
subject could aspire to ; and he appears even to have 
iained equality with onQ. Ke became imperious and 

insolent 



48 CARDINAL WOLSEY. 

insolent to the last degree ; yet Wareham alone had the 
honest courage to acquaint his sovereign with the mal- 
versation of his servant. The king on that occasion 
reprimanded him for the first time ; and Wolsey became 
more cautious, if not more tolerant, than before. 

This towering prelate, however, had for some time 
entertained views on the chair of St. Peter, and amidst 
all his splendid follies this seems to have been uppermost 
in his mind. He engaged foreign influence in his be- 
half, and even sacrificed the interest of his country to 
his own private schemes of aggrandizement. On the 
death of Pope Leo X. he made himself sure of being 
chosen his successor; but Wolsey was of a character 
rather to be feared than loved, and he lost his election. 
But though disappointed and deceived, he did not relin- 
quish his design ; and when another vacancy happened, 
on the death of Adrian VI, he again put in his preten- 
sions, and again failed of success. 

He still, however, continued to direct the councils of 
his sovereign, and to lord it over his equals, and even 
his superiors. He treated the most powerful of the no- 
bility with arrogance and contempt ; and Stafford duke 
of Buckingham, the only courtier who ventured to op- 
pose him, fell a victim to his intrigues. This gave Occa- 
sion to an excellent bon mot of Charles V. " That the 
butcher's dog" (alluding to Wolsey's origin) " had 
worried the fairest hart in England.' ' 

Wolsey, who had long ceased to be popular, was now 
execrated by the people ; but he continued to enjoy the 
undiminished favour of his sovereign ; and those whom 
he could not conciliate by his bounty, he awed by his 
terrors. His establishment was princely, and his muni- 
ficence, or rather his ostentation, was correspondent. 
Yet let us not refuse Wolsey the praise to which his 
conduct, in some respects, has given him a just claim. 
His endowments at Oxford, and at Ipswich, the place 

of 



CARDINAL WOLSEY. 4p 

of his nativity, evince an ardent love of literature as 
well as of fame ; and prove that he did not accumulate 
wealth merely for himself alone, but with a view to the 
benefit of all posterity. 

Having now seen this extraordinary character at the 
height of his glory, and just vibrating on the pinnacle of 
renown, giddy with prosperity, and therefore unable to 
keep his hold, let us attend his rapid decline. 

Henry had long conceived an ardent affection for a 
young lady of the court, daughter to Sir Thomas Bo~ 
leyn ; and finding that her virtue was impregnable, was 
determined to remove every obstacle which stood in has 
way to an union with her on honourable terms. Wol- 
sey, while he considered this in the light of an intrigue, 
bowed to the new favourite with the most supple ad- 
dress ; but when he found that his master intended to 
violate every tie to gratify his passion, zealously dis- 
suaded him from his object ; and thus incurred the re- 
sentment of his sovereign, who could not brook controul, 
and of the lady, who aspired to be a queen. The cour- 
tiers saw the danger and the delicacy of his situation, 
and made Anne Boleyn the instrument of their ven- 
geance and her own. 

Against such a combination, co-operating with the 
impetuous desires of Henry, it was impossible for the 
premier to stand. Yet the king did not easily withdraw 
his confidence from a man who had long been his most 
obsequious drudge, at the same time that he was the ty- 
rant of his subjects ; and he continued to be employed 
in embassies to foreign courts, and to enjoy the apparent 
affection of his master. But these embassies were rather 
thrown in his way to remove him from the royal pre- 
sence, than with any view of employing his talents to 
the service of his country ; and, indeed, from the time 
that he aspired to the papacy, it is doubtful whether a 
C regard 



50 CARDINAL WOLSEY. 

regard to private interest did not predominate over a 
sense of public duty. 

At length the divorce from Catherine came upon the 
tapis ; and the delays and impediments that occurred in 
the prosecution of this business were in a great measure 
ascribed to Wolsey, who had always dissuaded the kino; 
from such a step, and therefore was the rather suspected 
of protracting the proceedings of the legantine ctmrt, 
which had been established to decide on the validity of 
Henry's marriage* Anne Boleyn seconded the suspi- 
cions of the king, and the rage of the cardinal's enemies; 
and the seals were taken from him, though in a. manner 
that shewed some compunction on the part of the king* 
But Wolsey, sensible that his disgrace was now inevi- 
table, resolved to act with policy and caution in this 
critical situation. He ordered an inventory to be taken 
of his effects, his superb plate and furniture, and left 
them all for the king ; rationally concluding, that to 
divest himself of his wealth was the most likely method 
to check the spirit of persecution. 

He judged right: but the return of his influence was 
too much dreaded to render any sacrifices, short of life, 
saiTicieiit to satisfy his foes. He was impeached in par- 
liament, chiefly relative to the exercise of his legantine 
functions, and the scandalous irregularities of his life; 
but from the industry and address of his grateful servant, 
Thomas Cromwell, now appearing on the horizon of 
power, this charge came to nothing. 

Meanwhile the cardinal continued at Esher, in Sur- 
rey, in great obscurity and neglect, though he practised 
the most abject servility to regain favour. His master, 
indeed, by occasional messages of favourable import, 
seemed desirous of sloping the way to his final ruin ; 
but in the issue lie constantly found himself deceived ; 
I every step t^e king took, still farther removed him 
Jrom any hopes of seeing better days. 

Worn 



CARDINAL WOLSEY. 51 

Worn out with disappointment, his colleges s 
tered and dissolved, though he earnestly besought the 
king to spare them, even his very tomb seized, v r] 
he begged in the most feeling terms, as a home he was 
soon likely to want, Wolsey at length was obliged to 
retire to his diocese of York ; where his munificence 
soon rendered him respected, and where he might have 
closed his days in peace and honour. But even here 
the implacable resentment of his enemies pursued him ; 
and he was soon arrested by the earl of Northumberland 
for high treason, and committed to the custody of the 
lieutenant of the Tower, who had orders to bring him 
to London. 

The people whom his bounty had relieved, flocked 
round him with lamentations, and followed him for se- 
veral miles, till he requested them to depart and be 
patient, as he feared not his enemies, but entirely sub- 
mitted to the will of heaven. But the shock now given 
to a mind, already broken by calamity, was too violent 
to be borne. When he had reached Sheffield-park, the 
seat of the earl of Shrewsbury, he was taken ill ; and 
suspicions were not wanting that he had either swalloved 
poison, or had it administered by others. There seems 
to be no good reason for accusing the cardinal of being 
accessary to his own death, nor any proofs that can at- 
tach to others. His illness, however, proved mortal. 
By a slow progress and short journeys, he reached Lei- 
cester-abbey, where he was received with all possible 
reverence and respect ; but his only observation was, 
u Father Abbot, I am come to lay my bones am- 
you." Three days after he died with the composure of 
a christian and the fortitude of a man, but reflecting on 
himself for his blind devotion to his prince. " Had I 
served God," said he, a little before his dissolu: 
*< as diligently as I have served the king, he would not 
have forsaken me in my grey hairs ; but this is the 
C 2 



52 SIR THOMAS MORE. 

just reward I must receive for my indulgent pains and 
study, nor regarding my service to God, but only to 
my prince." 

He died on the twenty-ninth of November, 1 530, and 
next day was buried in the middlejof one of the abbey 
chapels. Such was the end of Cardinal Wolsey, who 
had a very considerable weight in the scale of European 
politics during a series of years ; and who certainly 
possessed eminent abilities as a statesman ; but, on the 
whole, may be characterized rather as a great than a 
good man. 

In person, Wolsey was tall and comely, and very 
graceful in his air and manner. Owing to a blemish in 
one of his eyes, he always took care to be painted in 
profile, as may be seen in his existing pictures. 

He who is arrogant in prosperity is commonly abject: 
and mean in adversity; a position illustrated by the con- 
duct of Wolsey. His vices and weaknesses were indeed 
not few, but they were balanced by some splendid public 
virtues. He was the patron of genius and of learning, 
and a liberal friend to the poor. 



SIR THOMAS MORE. 

Born 1480.— Beheaded 1535. 
From 19 th Edward IF. to 26th Emry VIIL 

WHILE incorruptible integrity, genuine princi- 
ple, and steady resolution, accompanied by the 
mildest social virtues, have a title to esteem, the name 
of Sir Thomas More will be held in veneration. 

This great man was bona m Milk-street, London. 
He was the son of Sir John More, one of the judges of 

the 



SIR THOMAS MORE. 53 

die King's Bench, a man whose virtues and abilities 
seem to have been entailed with large accessions on his 
offspring. 

Of the early presages this young man gave of intel- 
lectual energy, we have some indisputable memorials, 
intermixed with fabulous legends. Being taken into the 
family of Cardinal Morton, the primate and chancellor, 
as was usual for youths of talents or distinction in those 
days, his grace had discernment to see the germ of ta- 
lents in his eleve, and would often say to his company, 
* This boy who now waits at my table, whoever lives 
to see it, will prove a wonderful man." 

Being duly initiated in classical learning, he was re- 
moved to Canterbury College, now part of Christ 
Church, Oxford, where he remained two years, and 
distinguished himself by his knowledge in languages, 
and his progress in the sciences. 

On quitting the university he was entered of New Inn* 
London, where he applied himself to the study of the 
law ; and being called to the bar, was beginning to ac- 
quire a reputation proportionate to his talents ; when, 
conceiving a sudden distaste to his profession, he retired 
to the Charter-house, and for four years secluded him- 
self from the world, engaged in the constant practice 
of devotion, or the prosecution of his studies. The 
greatest minds are not exempt from infirmity i they 
have their brilliancies and their obscurations. 

Superstition gained the ascendant on this illustrious 
character very early in life : he practised some monastic 
severities on himself before he was twenty years of age ; 
and at one time had a violent inclination to become a 
Franciscan ; but his filial piety made him at last yield 
to the predilection of his father in favour of the law. 

Being naturally of a gay and volatile temper, it is 

probable the austerities he voluntarily submitted to 

were intended to counteract the warmth of his passions. 

C3 His 



54 SIR THOMAS MORE. 

His friends, zealous to promote his happiness- and his 
credit, persuaded him to marry. Being on a visit to a 
gentleman who had three daughters, he was captivated 
with the charms of the second : but when pressed to 
declare his choice, he named the eldest ; because he 
thought it would hurt her feelings to be overlooked* 
With this lady h? lived happily for about seven years, 
and resumed his practice at the bar with great reputa- 
tion and success ; which, in some measure, originated 
from the subsequent circumstance. 

Scarcely had he completed his twenty-first year, when 
he was returned to serve in parliament. In this great 
theatre he soon had an opportunity of displaying his 
abilities and his patriotism, by opposing a subsidy de- 
led by Henry VII. with such force of argument 
and effect, that it was actually rejected. One of the 
privy council, who was present, immediately reported 
to the king, " that a beardless boy had frustrated all 
his schemes. 5 ' Henry was determined to be revenged ; 
but as the son had nothing to lose, and had not exceeded 
the line of his duty, he visited his offence on the guilt- 
less father ; who, on some frivolous charge, was com- 
mitted to the Tower, and amerced in 1001. before he 
could recover his liberty. This mean and spiteful re- 
venge, which was intended to depress young More, only 
made him an object of importance in the eyes of the na- 
tion ; and his own conduct was such, that his enemies 
could neither entrap him, nor his friends have 'reason to 
be ashamed of their cordial patronage. 

After his return to the bar, there was scarcely a cause 
of importance in which he was not solicited to be en- 
gaged ; and as he never would defend »a bad one, his 
credit rose with the purity of the principle on which it 
was founded. His first preferment, however, was being 
made judge of the sheriff's court in London ; but hav- 
ing acquitted himself with distinguished reputation and 

abili 



SIR THOMAS MORE. 55 

abilities on various public occasions, Wolsey was com- 
missioned by Henry VIII. to engage his services. 
More, with that diffidence which is peculiar to merit, - 
and that love of independence which is natural to the 
virtuous,, declined the proffered honour ; but being im- 
portunately urged, he thought it his duty to submit to 
his sovereign's pleasure, and was appointed master of 
the requests. A few weeks after, he was knighted, 
sworn one of his majesty's privy council, and admitted 
to the greatest personal familiarity with Henry. 

In fine, so much was the king charmed with his abi- 
lities, learning, wit, and convivial talents, that he not 
only consulted him on affairs of state and matters of 
science, but frequently invited him to be of his private 
parties, in order to enjoy his rich flow of humour. Sir 
Thomas was passionately attached to domestic endeai- 
ments ; and when he found that his facetious disposition 
was one reason that he was called on to devote so much 
time to court attendance, he began to assume a mere 
grave deportment, and to dissemble his natural propen- 
sity to merriment. By this innocent artifice, he reco- 
vered a greater share of liberty, and was less frequently 
drawn from the home he loved. 

Henry, however, did not abate in his regard for his 
faithful servant ; and on the death of the treasurer of 
the exchequer in 1520, Sir Thomas More was appoint- 
ed, without solicitation, to that office ; and three years 
afterwards he was chosen speaker of the house of 
commons. In this last capacity he evinced his usual 
intrepidity and patriotism, in frustrating a motion 
for an oppressive subsidy, promoted by Cardinal 
Wolsey. 

Soon after he was appointed treasurer of the exche- 
quer, he settled at Chelsea ; and having lost his first 
wife, married a second, of the name of Middleton, who, 
according to Erasmus, was a widow, old, ill-temp 

C 4 and 



56 SIR THOMAS MORE. 

and avaricious; yet was beloved with youthful fondness 
by her husband. 

His next promotion was to the chancellorship of the 
duchy of Lancaster. Notwithstanding the known in- 
dependence of his mind, he was in such high favour 
with the king, that his majesty frequently visited him 
at Chelsea in the most unceremonious manner. After 
walking with him one day in the garden for nearly an 
hour, with his arm familiarly thrown round Sir Tho- 
mas's neck ; one of his sons-in-law, who saw the inti- 
macy with which he was treated, was remarking on the 
felicity of being so distinguished by his sovereign. Sir 
Thomas, who was no stranger to the turpitude . of 
Henry's heart, thus expressed himself — " I thank the 
Lord, I find his Grace to be a very good master indeed, 
and believe he is as partial to me as to any subject 
within his realm ; but yet I have no cause to presume 
on his favour ; for if my head could win him but a 
castle in France, it would riot long remain on my 
shoulders." 

Having discharged two embassies on the continent, 
much to the satisfaction of Henry, who, it has been re- 
marked, always treated him with more tenderness and 
good humour than any of his other favourites, on the 
disgrace of Wolsey, in 1529, he was entrusted with the 
great seal, as a reward for his eminent services. 

It is generally believed that Henry had previously 
sounded Sir Thomas on the subject of his meditated 
divorce from Queen Catherine ; but that finding him 
averse to lend the sanction of his respectable name to 
such a proceeding, the king thought by loading him 
with honours to ensure his compliance. In regard to 
mankind in general, that prince's judgment was politi- 
cally rights hut Sir Thomas More was not made of 
such flexible stuff as to bend for interest, or sacrifice 
his conscience for gratitude. 

He 



SIR THOMAS MORE. 0/ 

He saw the danger and delicacy of his situation from 
the first; but having entered on this high office, he 
would not shrink from the duties annexed to it. The 
meanest claimant found ready access to the new chan- 
cellor : no private affe&ion could bias his judgment, or 
influence his decrees ; no opportunity was given for in- 
trigue or interested solicitation: and after he had pre- 
sided in the court of chancery for two years, such was 
his application to business, that one day calling for the 
next cause, he was told there was not another then de- 
pending — a circumstance which he immediately ordered 
to be set down on record, and we suppose it will be al- 
lowed an unique of the kind. 

The chancellor, though no friend to the papal usur- 
pations in England, was far from wishing for a total 
rupture with the Holy See; and foreseeing that the 
meas'ures which Henry was pursuing must inevitably 
involve him with one or the other, he anxiously pressed 
to have his resignation of the seals accepted, which at 
last was granted ; though not without great reluctance 
on the part of Henry, and the warmest professions of a 
permanent regard. Thus, after he had filled this high 
office for nearly three years, with exemplary applica- 
tion, true magnanimity, and unsullied integrity, he re- 
signed this high dignity, and retired to Chelsea \ so 
little the richer for the important stations he had rilled 
for nearly twenty years, that his whole annual income 
did not exceed 1001. ; and after the liquidation of his 
debts, it appears that he had not above 1001. in money 
on earth, exclusive of his chain and a few rings. Though 
such disinterestedness in a courtier is but seldom imitat- 
ed, it deserves to be remembered 

The day after his resignation, he attended his wife and 

family to church, and when mass was finished, instead 

of going out first as had been usual, he went to the pew 

door, and, with a low bow, said, " Madam, my lord is 

C 5 gone/* 



58 SrR THOMAS MORE* * 

gone. 5 * This was the first intimation he had given her 
that he was no longer chancellor. His wife at first 
thought him in jest ; but when she found he was in ear- 
nest, she broke out into reproaches and lamentations at 
his want of attention to his interest ; but Sir Thomas 
turned the conversation to another subject, nor seemed 
to heed the storm, 

His whole study now was to reduce his establishment 
to his diminished resources, and to provide for his fa- 
mily and dependants, in such a manner as might shew 
that he was more solicitous about them than himself. 
He gave himself wholly up to domestic privacy and 
retirement; and having every thing to fear from the in- 
constant and cruel temper of the king, to whom, he had 
been a devoted servant, but could not be a slave, he pre- 
pared his mind by study and reflection to meet with 
fortitude the worst that could befal him. 

Though now reduced to a private station, and even 
to indigence, so high was his reputation, and such credit 
was attached to his legal opinions, that reiterated at- 
tempts were made to obtain his approbation of the king's 
marriage w T ith Anne Boleyn. When every manoeuvre, 
however, that policy; could devise or power command,' 
proved ineffectual to warp his principles, and bring him 
over to measures he condemned, Henry, being highly 
exasperated, was determined he should feel his utmost 
vengeance ; and accordingly he was attainted, with se- 
veral others, of misprision of treason, for encouraging 
Elizabeth Barton, commonly called the maid of Kent, 
in her traitorous designs. However, it appearing upon 
record, that he had pronounced her the most false, dis- 
sembling hypocrite he had ever known, his name was 
obliged to be struck out of the bill. But malice en- 
trenched behind power is not easily baffled ; other im- 
putations, equally groundless, were brought against 
him in quick succession — from all which his innocence 

protected 



SIR THOMAS MORE, 5Q 

protected him, and enabled him to stand the severest » 
scrutiny. 

At last, however, his enemies prevailed ; for on his 
refusing to take the oath enjoined by the act of supre^ 
macy,- he was committed to the Tower, where having 
lain fifteen months, he was brought to trial on a charge 
for high treason in denying that the king was the su- 
preme head of the church. The same equanimity and 
cheerfulness which he had evinced through life, attend- 
ed him in this awful scene. The only evidence against 
him was Rich, the solicitor-general, whose credit he in- 
validated in the most striking manner; but as it w^s 
predetermined that he should either recant or be sacri- 
ficed, he resolutely maintained his principles, and the 
fatal sentence was passed upon him to suffer as a traitor. 

In the interval between his condemnation and execu- 
tion, which Henry commuted to simple decollation, he. 
employed his-time in taking leave of his daughters, and 
fitting himself for eternity. His humour and wit, how- 
ever, were displayed to the last; even on the scaffold 
his serenity of mind shone in its fullest lustre, and he 
seemed more like a man undressing to go to bed, than 
like one on the verge of the grave. At one blow his 
head was severed from his body : the latter was depo- 
sited in the chancel of the church of Chelsea, where a 
monument was erected to his memory ; his head, after 
being fourteen days exposed on London-bridge, was 
obtained by his daughter, and placed in a vault belong- 
ing to the Roper family, in St. Dunstan's church at 
Canterbury. 

It has been- observed of this illustrious character, that 
the ignorant and the proud, however exalted, were such 
as he respected the least ; but he was the patron of every 
man of science and merit, and kept up a correspondence 
with all the literati in Europe. As a judge, he was most 
upright; as a man, truly amiable, facetious and pleasing 3 
C6 but 



OO THOMAS CROMWELL, 

but on the subject of religion he was weak and credu- 
lous to a high degree. Tinctured with superstition, and 
attached to the Romish church with inflexible adhe- 
rence, he suffered his good sense to be obscured by the 
glosses of error and the dogmas of theologists, and fell 
a martyr, perhaps, to bigotry rather than to sound 
reason. Yet we cannot help respecting the errors of 
principle, as much as we despise the whifflings of in-- 
consistency : 

For modes of faith let graceless zealots fight, 
His csn't be wrong whose life is in the right. 

Except by his Utopia, Sir Thomas More is now little 
known as an author : his polemic works have been car- 
ried down the stream of oblivion ; for the best produc- 
tions of this nature are not likely to earn the wreath of 
immortality. 



THOMAS CROMWELL, 

EARL OF ESSEX. 

Born 1498.— Beheaded 1540. 

From 13M Henry VII. to 3 1st Henry VI II. 

THE rise of the earl of Essex was as sudden as that 
of his patron, Cardinal Wolsey ; and, in several 
respects, more extraordinary. That learning should 
elevate a man above his original station, is consistent 
with the common order of human events ; but that a 
man without birth, education, or connections, should be 
able to pierce the cloud of obscurity, and to soar into 
the higher regions of life, is a. phenomenon which de- 
serves to be considered and accounted for. 

This 



EARL OF ESSEX. 6l 

This champion of the reformation was the son of a 
blacksmith, at Putney* in Surrey, where he received all 
his slender education, which did not exceed the know- 
ledge of reading and writing, with such a smattering 
of Latin as qualified him to understand his creed and 
pater-noster. 

Born in such a humble sphere of life, it cannot be sup- 
posed that Cromwell could owe much to his parents, 
beyond a vigorous and healthful constitution* How- 
ever, being possessed of a strong natural genius, and 
considering travel as the only means left of improving 
his understanding and enlarging his capacity, as he ad- 
vanced toward manhood, he determined to visit the 
continent ; and, according to some, he was first retained 
as clerk, or secretary, in the English fa&ory at Antwerp. 

This situation being ill suited to his aspiring genius, 
he soon found an opportunity of changing it for one 
more congenial to his views. Two messengers from 
the Guild of Our Lady, in the church of St. Botolph, 
at Boston, desirous to have their former liberal grants 
and indulgences confirmed by the reigning pope, Julius 
II. taking Antwerp in their way, fell into the company 
of Cromwell ; and finding his talents for negociation 
superior to their own, readily prevailed on him to ac- 
company them to Rome. 

On arriving at that ancient metropolis of the world, 
Cromwell's first care was to discover the weak side of 
the pontiff's character ; and finding him a great epicure, 
he caused some curious jellies to be made after the Eng- 
lish fashion, and presented to his holiness ; who was so 
highly gratified with those delicacies, that he imme- 
diately granted the request of the commissioners. It is 
a truth which all ages have exemplified, that to humour 
the palates of some men, is the readiest way to win their 
hearts ! 

After this transaction, an interval of doubt and un- 
certainty 



62 THOMAS CROMWELL, 

certainty occurs in Cromwell's life. The chain of 
events is much interrupted ; and we only know that he 
served under the famous duke of Bourbon, and was at 
the sacking of Rome, in effecting his escape from Bo- 
logna, where he was in danger of being betrayed when 
on a secret mission ; a piece of service for which Crom- 
well was probably remembered and rewarded at a sub* 
sequent period. 

On the defeat of the French army at Castiglioni, our 
adventurer was reduced to the greatest distress ; in 
which condition he arrived at the city of Florence. Here 
he accidentally attracted the notice of Frescobald, a 
merchant of eminence, who pitying his forlorn situation, 
he was embarked in a proper ship by the philanthropic 
Florentine, and had sixteen golden ducats put into his 
pocket for defraying his expences to his own country. 
With pleasure we record an instance of a courtier's gra- 
titude in return : this merchant being afterwards re- 
duced to poverty, and visiting England to recover some 
outstanding debts, was recognized by Cromwell in his 
prosperity, and most munificently rewarded. 

Thus it appears, that the only benefit which our ad- - 
venturer derived from foreign travels was a more ex- 
tensive knowledge of mankind ; unless" we add, an ac- 
quaintance with the German, French, and Italian lan- 
guages, which he spoke fluently, and wrote correctly. 

With such natural and acquired abilities, however, 
he soon recommended himself to Wolsey, then in the 
zenith of his power, and in a short time was admitted 
to a considerable share of intimacy with the cardinal, 
and frequently employed in delicate and important af- 
fairs. On the disgrace of his patron, Cromwell behaved 
with a fidelity and gratitude which must endear his 
memory to every virtuous mind. He strenuously de- 
fended him from a charge of treason J he omitted* no 
attentions of affe&ion and respect to the prostrate great- 

_ ness 



EARL OF ESSEX. 63 

ness by which he himself had risen ; and Henry, who 
saw his zeal and abilities, prudently took him into his 
own service, and promoted his interest and his fame. 

The dispute between the king of England and the 
pope having now reached its height, Cromwell was 
chosen to manage it on the part of his sovereign. In 
his religious sentiments he was publicly known to favour 
the reformation ; and having already been instrumental 
in the demolition of some of the convents, the clergy 
dreaded his accession of power, and traduced him with- 
out mercy. Their inveterate dislike to the man and his 
measures proved fatal to themselves. Cromwell, in- 
stead of attempting to soothe them by compliance, ir- 
ritated and injured them still more, by disclosing an 
important secret respecting their blind devotion to 
Rome. He had discovered at the papal court, that 
after the English clergy had taken the oath of alle- 
giance to their sovereign, the pope dispensed with that 
part of it which militated against his own usurped 
rights ; so that the royal authority was abused, and the 
clergy were subjected to all the penalties of a premunire. 

Henry heard this with indignation, till the artful 
Cromwell, favouring his passion for power and money, 
pointed out the means of effectually humbling the clergy, 
and of confiscating their property. In a transport of 
joy he now embraced the new favourite, and taking the 
royal signet from his finger, sent him to the convoca- 
tion then sitting, to declare the pains and penalties which 
they had incurred. 

The bishops were at first astonished at the charge, 
and attempted to deny the fact ; but, Cromwell pro- 
ducing a copy of the oath which they had taken to the 
pope at their consecration, they were awed into silence, 
and eager to compound with his majesty, by tendering 
a free gift of 118,840 pounds. 

The fortune of Cromwell was insured by this man- 
2 ceuvre, 



6A THOMAS CROMWELL, 

eeuvre, and he rapidly rose to the summit of power. He 
was successively made a privy counsellor, and master 
of the jewel-office ; clerk of the hanaper, and chancellor 
of the exchequer ; principal secretary of state, and 
master of the rolls 5 lord keeper of the privy seal, and 
lord Cromwell : and, to crown the whole, he was con* 
stituted vicar-general, and vicegerent over all the 
spirituality under the kjng, who had now assumed the 
title of " Supreme Head of the Church. " 

So many honours, accumulated by a person of such 
plebeian origin, could not escape envy : in quality of 
vicar-general he was exposed to obloquy also. The total 
suppression of the monasteries was a bold and novel 
step ; and as the rupture with the pretended representa- 
tive of St. Peter was now complete; while the greater 
part of the nation still professed popery, the danger of 
the man who had placed himself in the foremost ranks 
of reformation, and been accessary to that important 
revolution, must be obvious to the most cursory ob- 
server. 

Yet Cromwell was not intimidated by the difficulties 
which surrounded him. His good sense extricated him 
from some impending dangers, and his sagacity removed 
others that were evidently approaching. With such a 
capricious and fickle master, however, it was impossible 
to be safe. Reason may maintain its ground with 
reason; but, where passion and caprice alone bear sway, 
there is no tenable possession of the mind. The spoils 
of the monasteries gratified Henry's rapacity, and the 
offals, which he was continually distributing among his 
parasites, fixed their adherence to a minister who had 
provided such a banquet for their entertainment : but 
the number whom this conduct alienated was not small ;. 
and both the religiory and morals of the king were so 
much under the domination of his lust, that the tenets 
of one day were deemed heretical on the next. 

Thus 



EARL OF ESSEX. 65 

Thus circumstanced, Cromwell felt the necessity of 
caution in the exercise of his religious powers. He 
began by publishing a few articles of faith, essentially 
different from the Romish; but not to shock the vulgar 
prejudices too strongly at once, he left some tenets 
doubtful, and others he did not touch. 

His next care, and in this his wisdom and piety were 
equally conspicuous, was to publish a translation of the 
Scriptures into English, a copy of which was directed to 
be placed in every church, for the inspection of all 
ranks. The Lord's prayer, the creed, and the deca- 
logue, were likewise ordered to be taught in the verna- 
cular tongue. These judicious measures menaced the 
speedy extirpation of the Romish religion, and its blind 
adherents were consequently incensed to madness. In- 
surrections broke out in different parts of the kingdom; 
the rebels boldly demanded that Cromwell should be 
brought to condign punishment, as a subverter of the 
laws and religion of the land; but the disturbances 
being speedily quelled, Henry only answered the com- 
plaints of the insurgents by heaping fresh honours on 
the head of his minister, who was now created earl of 
Essex. 

The tide of prosperity had hitherto flowed without 
interruption. The earl, studious to prevent a reflux, 
tock a precaution which precipitated his fall. 

Henry having lost his queen Jane Seymour, mother 
of Edward VI. for whom he seems to have entertained 
a sincere affection, turned his thoughts towards a Ger- 
man alliance. Essex warmly seconded his master's 
views, and brought about a marriage between him and 
Anne of Cleves, who was a protestant ;. in hopes thereby 
to strengthen his interest, against the popish faction, 
which continually menaced him. So uncertain, how- 
ever, is the issue of human events, that this very cir- 
cumstance proved his ruin. Anne was personally dis- 
agreeable 



66 EARL OF ESSEX. 

agreeable to Henry, who had a whimsical and vitiated 
taste: he ceased to cohabit with her, and fixed his rov- 
ing affections on Catherine Howard, niece to the duke 
of Norfolk. The papists, seeing this, redoubled their 
clamours against Essex, and some of the bishops pro- 
mised to procure a divorce from the princess of Cleves,, 
provided he was removed. Henry, whom no tie of ho- 
nour or gratitude could bind when his passions were 
concerned, and who seems to have thought that the pros- 
tituted name of marriage would cover the blackest atro- 
cities, gave up his favourite, who was arrested by the 
duke of Norfolk at the council-board, and immediately 
conveyed to the Tower. Seven days after, he v/as ac- 
cused in the house of lords, of heresy- and treason; but 
the charges were either so frivolous, or so false, that 
they prudently denied him an opportunity of making his. 
defence, and the bill of attainder passed both houses, 
to adopt a modern phrase, almost by acclamation. 

Essex, during his confinement, acquitted himself of 
every accusation in some very pathetic letters, which 
he addressed to the king ; but the die was cast, and com- 
punction seldom touched the heart of that tyrant. The 
friends of the fallen minister, as is too common, imme- 
diately deserted him ; and his enemies triumphed over 
him with inhuman insolence* Cranmer, the primate, 
alone maintained his cause, though with ineffectual 
zeal; and in the fidelity of this great and good man 
he met with a recompense for his own attachment to 
Wolsey. 

Essex was brought to the block on the 28th o£ July, 
1540, in the forty-second year of his age. - That he 
might not injure his son,, he avoided all reproaches 
against his enemies. He grayed fervently for the king, 
and the welfare of his country; and then gave die sig- 
nal to the executioner, who, either unskilful or timid, 
mangled the unfortunate victim in the most shocking 
manner. 



BISHOP LATIMER. 67 

Essex was a sound politician, a good man, and warm- 
ly attached to the public welfare ; but he committed 
many errors in his ministerial capacity. In his zeal for 
the new religion, he had introduced the unjustifiable 
mode of attainder, in cases of treason and heresy ; and 
his enemies availed themselves of his own law to con- 
demn him, unconvicted and unheard. 

In person, he was comely ; in manners, courteous* 
He was exempt from all pride or arrogance ; and, in 
his highest exaltation, was easy of access, and remark- 
ably affable. His charity was unbounded, and his kind- 
ness to his dependants made their services appear like 
offices of love and gratitude, not the compulsion of 
superiority and duty. 



HUGH LATIMER, 

BISHOP OP WORCESTER. 

Born 1475. — Burnt at the stake 1555. 

From 14<t/i Edward IF. to 2nd Mary 1. 

THAT a religion whose distiguishing character is 
charity and benevolence, should ever have been 
employed as an engine of persecution, is mortifying to 
those who enter into its celestial views, and to the scep- 
tic and the infidel furnishes a weak but plausible argu- 
ment against its f authenticity. In these days, indeed* 
when bigotry and superstition are justly exploded, it 
must astonish every sincere Christian to reflect, how it 
could ever have entered into the conception of man* 
that God could be honoured by a flagrant violation of 
his express commands, " to love one another ;" and that 
the kingdom of heaven was to be gained by the perpe- 
tration of crimes at which human nature turned pale. Yet 

it 



68 BISHOP LATIMER. 

it may be instructive to the rising generation to know 
that in former times fires have blazed, and human sacri- 
fices have been offered up, under the name of a religion 
that abjures and abhors them. 

Latimer, Ridley, Hooper, and Cranmer, all men of 
eminence in learning and station, suffered at the stake 
in the sanguinary reign of the bigoted Mary, and sealed 
the truth of genuine religion with their blood. We 
have selected the life of the former, as appearing to ap- 
proach nearest the standard of primitive simplicity and 
virtue, and as furnishing the brightest example of suf- 
fering patience, and of unshaken fortitude in trial. 

This apostolical divine was born at Thurcaster, in 
Leicestershire, of reputable parents, who, by honest in^ 
dustry a remote from affluence, brought up six daughters; 
besides this their only son. 

Of the juvenile part of Latimer's life, we have no 
particular memorials. He was entered of Cambridge, 
where he took priest's orders, and for some time shewed 
the utmost eagerness in defending the tenets of the Ro- 
mish church, which then began to be attacked, and in 
opposing the progress of what were then deemed here- 
tical opinions. This activity and zeal procured him the 
office of cross-bearer at all solemnities ; an office which 
he supported with becoming dignity of deportment. 

But fortunately he did not stray long in the mazes of 
error. He had a friend of the name of Bilney, who, 
himself attached to the doctrines of the reformation, 
and entertaining a high opinion of Latimer's moral: 
and abilities, exerted himself to win him over as an asso 
ciate in the same cause. Latimer who acted from the 
purest principle, and was open to the conviction of truth 
when his inquisitive mind had once become satisfied o: 
the existence of error, soon professed himself a convert 
to protestantism; and, having once embraced its rational 
views, he supported his belief by public preaching, by 

private 



BISHOP IATIIvI 6Q 

private exhortation, and by invincible courage, joined to 
the most blameless life and conversatien. 

It was not long, however, before he was sensible of 
the danger to which he had exposed himself, and per- 
secution began to approach with rapid strides, The 
orthodox clergy, more exasperated against him than if 
he had never been their friend, thought it high time to 
Oppose him openly. His opinions were declared here- 
tical in their pulpit harangues: and some of their argu- 
ments against the innovation which he defended, of 
using the Scriptures in English, however canonical at 
that time, would only raise the smile of contempt in this 
enlightened age. 

Notwithstanding this opposition, the protestant party, 
of whom his friend Bilney and himself were the leaders, 
gained ground at Cambridge, and struck a panic into 
the dignitaries of that university. Their enemies, find- 
ing arguments ineffectual, had recourse to authority. 
The diocesan was applied to; and at last a court was 
erected, consisting of bishops and canonists, who were 
commissioned to put the laws in force against heresy. 
Bilney, who was considered as the heresiarch, was 
obliged to recant and bear his faggot ; Latimer and 
others were dismissed, with some courteous admonitions. 
Cardinal Wolsey himself, after some private conversa- 
tion, gave him a general licence to preach in all parts of 
England ; and he returned to Cambridge, animated 
with fresh zeal to promote the doctrines of the reforma- 
tion. 

Bilney being silenced, Latimer now became the head 
-of the party ; and having once or twice had the honour 
to preach before the king, at Windsor, his majesty took 
■particular notice of him, which emb'oldened him to ad- 
dress his sovereign in a nervous and pathetic epistle 
against the cruel bigotry of the clergy, who had been 
sanctioned by a royal proclamation. The concluding 

7 words 



70 BISHOP LATIMER. 

words of his address deserve to be copied : they are not 
the cold unimpassioned language of the head ; they flow 
spontaneously from the heart : 

" Accept, gracious sovereign, without displeasure* 
what my duty prompted me to write. No personal 
quarrel have I with any man, as God shall judge me. 
I have no object but to induce your majesty to consider 
well what kind of persons you have about you, and the 
ends for which they counsel. If they are not ■ much 
slandered, their private interest is the rule of their con- 
duct. God grant your majesty may see through all th 
designs of evil men, and be equal in all things to th 
high office with which you are intrusted ! But, gracious 
king, reflect on yourself, reflect on your soul. Think o; 
that day when you must give an account of your office 
and of the blood that has been shed by your sword. O 
which day that your grace may stand stedfast and un- 
abashed, clear and ready in your reckoning, and have 
your pardon sealed with the blood of our Saviour Christ, 
is my daily prayer to him who suffered for our sins. 
The spirit of God preserve you ! >J 

Such was the impressive language in which Latimer 
pleaded with his sovereign. With the effect of his soli- 
citations we are unacquainted; but, it is certain, Henry 
entertained no unfavourable opinion of him for his 
freedom ; and soon after, he had an opportunity of re- 
commending himself more effectually to the good 
graces of the king, by strenuously defending his divorce, 
■and maintaining his supremacy, in the university of 
Cambridge, where he ftill continued- to exercise his 
talents. 

Aboutlhis time, Cromwell was appearing on the hori- 
zon of court favour, and a similarity of principles at- 
tached him to Latimer. The letter was now introduced 
at court, and had a living in Wiltshire bestowed on him, 
to which he instantly retired, to discharge its functions, 

regardless 



BISHOP LATTMF.Fx. 71 

regardless of the prospers that opened to him as a 
courtier. 

Not satisfied with a faithful attention to the immedi- 
ate duties of his parish, he extended his labours through 
the country, wherever he found the pastoral care neg- 
lected : and his preaching being in a strain familiar, but 
extremely impressive, he soon acquired great reputa- 
tion among the common people. 

His fame daily spreading, and his piety and benevo- 
lence being such as malice could not scandalize, nor 
envy distort, the orthodox clergy in those parts were se- 
riously alarmed, and resolved to circumvent or silence 
him. Intending, one Sunday, -to preach at Bristol, a 
mandate was issued by the bishop, prohibiting any one 
to mount a pulpit there without his special licence ; and 
though this was only secretly aimed against Latimer, 
he immediately saw through the motive which dictated 
the injunction, but prudently disguised his feelings. 

Opposition soon became more public and more viru- 
lent ; and calumniators were suborned to accuse him of 
heretical opinions, chiefly by passages taken from his 
sermons. The accusation was laid before the bishop of 
London, who cited him to a personal appearance before 
him. Latimer, sensible that this was an extrajudicial 
and assumed authority* appealed to his owiv ordinary ; 
but the primate being prevailed on to issue a citation 
from Lambeth, he hesitated not to comply, though it 
was then the depth of winter, and he was labouring un- 
der a severe fit of the stone and colic. 

When he arrived in London, he found a court of 
bishops and canonists assembled to receive him ; but, 
instead of being examined as to his doctrines, a paper 
was put into his hands, which he was ordered to sub- 
scribe. Having found that its purport was to profess 
his belief in some of the mosl absurd dogmas of the 
aiomish church, he refused to sanction it with his name ; 

and 



72 BISHOP LATIMER. 

and was then dismissed, with a hope that at the next ap- 
pearance he would be found in a more compliant temper. 
This farce was acted again and again; but, as he still 
continued inflexible, and even remonstrated against this 
vexatious usage, the court began to think of proceeding 
to greater severities. 

However, the king being informed of his perilous 
situation, probably by the intervention of Cromwell, 
stept in and rescued him from his bigoted enemies. Be- 
ing liberated, he attended at court, and made such an 
impression on Ann Boleyn by his simplicity and aposto- 
lic manners and appearance, that she warmly joined 
with Cromwell in recommending him to the first vacant 
see. The king, in this instance, did not want much 
solicitation ; and Latimer was offered the bishopric of 
Worcester, which he accepted, in 1535. 

Having assumed the pastoral office, he was remark- 
ably assiduous in the discharge of every part of his duty: 
he preached, he visited, he reproved, he exhorted; and 
without rejecting all the superstitions of ivome, he ex- 
plained them in such c way as was calculated to facili- 
tate the reception oijthe Protestant doctrines. 

While thus usefully and honourably employed in the 
proper sphere of his activity,s he received a summons to 
attend the parliament and convocation. His eloquence 
being then in great repute, he was called on to open the 
latter by a Latin oration ; but he prudently avoided 
launching into the ocean of contest between the Protes- 
tant and the Popish parties, and in consequence, escaped 
an intended public censure, which was directed at the 
primate Cranmer, and himself. 

Anxious to discharge the functions of a bishop alone, 
he meddled not with state affairs, for which he had nei- 
ther inclination, nor, perhaps, abilities. Certainly how- 
ever, he had too little policy to be a statesman, and too 
much bluntness to be a courtier. He could not flatter 

vice. 



BISHOP LATIMER. 73 

vice, nor stoop to baseness ; and therefore spent no more 
time in London than what was absolutely requisite. 

After a two years' residence in his diocese, he was 
again summoned to London, on parliamentary busi- 
ness; and soon after, preaching a sermon before the king, 
in which he had, as usual, been severe against the reign- 
ing vices of the court, he was accused of sedition. With 
the undaunted consciousness of innocence he repelled 
this idle charge, and, in the presence of his sovereign 
and his ministers, professed his want of ambition and 
ability to preach before the court ; but, if called upon, 
claimed the privilege of discharging his conscience, and 
framing his doctrine according to his audience. 

The firmness of his virtue turned the edge of his ac- 
cuser's malice, and the king dismissed him with tokens 
of regard. 

About this time, Gardiner, bishop of Winchester, ob- 
taining great influence with Henry, the six bloody arti- 
cles, as they are called, were framed: the object of 
which was virtually to restore the Romish religion, 
though the king was as tenacious of his supremacy as 
ever. Thus, by the versatility of his faith, and the vio- 
lence of his temper, both protestants and papists were 
alike exposed to destruction. 

Latimer being unable to reconcile those articles to 
his conscience, thought it wrong to hold communion 
with a church that required them, and immediately re- 
signed his bishopric.^ It is related that when he had 
divested himself of his episcopal robes, he leaped up, 
declaring, " that he thought himself lighter than ever 
he was before." 

Retiring into the country, his sole wish was to enjoy 
a sequestered life ; but, receiving a violent contusion by 
the fall of a tree, he was obliged to repair to London 
for medical assistance ; and here he had the mortification 
to find all in confusion, the popish party triumphant, 

D and 



74 BISHOP LATIMER. 

and his patron Cromwell in the Tower, whither he was 
soon afterwards sent himself, for having spoke against 
the six articles; and during the remainder of Henry's 
reign he continued in imprisonment. 

On the accession of Edward VI. a new scene opened, 
and the friends of the reformation were not only liberat- 
ed, but received with every mark of affection. Latimer 
was now pressed to resume his former bishopric of Wor- 
cester, into which an ignorant bigot had been foisted ; 
but he excused himself on account of his age, and plead- 
ed his claim to a disincumbrance from ecclesiastic care. 

He now took, up his residence at Lambeth with his 
friend archbishop Cranmer, and chiefly devoted him- 
self to acts of charity. He had a principal share, how- 
ever, in the composition of the homilies, which were 
set forth by authority; and occasionally preached before 
the king. 

On the revolution at court, after the duke of Somer- 
set's death, he perambulated the country as a general 
preacher; a practice which he continued till the acces- 
sion of Mary, when he was with all expedition cited be- 
fore the council. As he passed through Smithfield, 
where heretics were usually burnt, he said with a cheer- 
ful air, " This place has long groaned for me." 

After some abuse from the council, he was committed 
to the Tower a second time, where Cranmer and Ridley 
were soon sent to join him. Their imprisonment for 
some months was severe ; but at last they were sent to 
Oxford, under the care of the lieutenant of the Tower; 
where they were informed that the long-depending con- 
troversy between the papists and the protestants would 
be finally determined, in a disputation between the most 
eminent divines of both parties. However, when they 
arrived thither, they were all confined in the common 
prison; and dented the use of pen, ink, and paper. 

In this dismal state, their chief solace was prayer and 

6 meditation ; 



BISHOP LATIMER. 73 

meditation : and when the commissioners from the con- 
vocation arrived, about a month after, articles were ex- 
hibited for them to subscribe or confute. Having de* 
clined the former, copies were delivered them, and sepa- 
rate days were fixed when they were publicly to argue 
against them. 

The venerable Latimer, his head palsied with age* 
and his hand propped by a staff, with a Bible under his 
arm, briefly professed the articles of his belief, but jocu* 
Jarly observed, " that he was as fit to be made governor 
of Calais as to dispute at his time of life, and under such 
circumstances." The arguments used by the more 
youthful champions, Cranmer and Ridley, were over- 
ruled by the insolence of authority, and treated with 
contempt. 

The three bishops, after sixteen months' close con- 
finement, till the pope's authority could be completely 
restored, were again brought not to trial, but to con- 
demnation. Cranmer was cajoled into a recantation, 
and thus had a few bitter months added to his life ; but 
he atoned in the last scene for that instance of infirmity. 
Latimer and Ridley were sentenced to the stake, and 
soon after carried to execution. 

The scene of this dreadful tragedy was opposite Ba« 
liol college. The spectators burst into tears, when they 
saw men, venerable for age, dignity, and worth, about 
to suffer such a horrid death. Latimer appeared in a 
shroud prepared for the purpose, and eyed the pile 
which was to consume him, with the confidence of im- 
mortal joy. Being fastened to a stake with an iron 
chain, a faggot ready kindled was laid at Ridley's feet f 
on which Latimer exclaimed, " Be of good comfort 
master Ridley, and play the man : we shall this day 
light such a candle inEngland,asI hope, by God's grace* 
will never be put out." Then recommending his scful 
to the Almighty, the flames quickly closed on him, and 

D 2 he 



76 SEBASTIAN CABOT. 

he passed through this fiery ordeal to eternal bliss. 
Ridley was much longer in torture but supported the for- 
titude of a Christian martyr to the last. 

Of characters so severely tried, and so greatly victo- 
rious, it is impossible to speak in adequate terms. The 
honest heart feels what no language can express. For 
piety, charity, humility, and exemplary manners, they 
were both alike distinguished., Their labours were all 
calculated to promote the cause of true religion and 
practical morality, to make men good and happy here, 
and ripen them for eternal bliss hereafter. 



5EBASTIANCABOT. 

Born about 1477— Died 1557. 
From \6th Edward IV. to 4tt/i Mary I. 

THE close of the fifteenth century was pregnant with 
many great events, and produced some of the most 
extraordinary characters for enterprize that ever graced 
the annals of fame. Columbus discovered a new con- 
tinent, and Di Gama laid open the precious treasures of 
the East. Henry VII, to whom the former had offered 
his services, through the medium of his brother, was 
either too incredulous or too penurious to discern and 
seize the mighty project; but, when he, at length, be- 
came sensible of what his narrow policy had lost, ambi- 
tion or curiosity roused him to participate in the ho- 
nours and advantages of Columbus's discoveries, al- 
though he could no longer claim them by an original 
title. 

The patronage of a king will always elicit enterprize; 
and no country is so barren in genius and talents as Hot 
to possess some aspiring minds, to which royal counte- 
nance 



SEBASTIAN CABOT. 77 

nance and encouragement can impart an enthusiasm to 
dare and suffer. 

Sebastian Cabot was born at Bristol, about 1477- His 
father was a native of Venice ; and made it his first care 
to educate his son in those branches of marine and ma- 
thematical science, to which commerce had then given 
celebrity and value. Before Sebastian was twenty years 
of age, he had performed several voyages; and, by 
thus adding practice to theory, he became early eminent 
in the nautical profession. 

The first voyage of importance, however, on which 
Sebastian was engaged, seems to have been that made 
by his father John, who had obtained a joint commission 
with his son from Henry VII. for the discovery of a 
north-west passage to India, the favourite object of 
Columbus; whose glorious career the king was then 
desirous that his subjects should emulate or excel. The 
two Cabots sailed from Bristol in the spring of 1494, and 
pursuing their course with favourable gales, on the 
twenty-fourth of June saw Newfoundland, to which they 
gave the name of Prima Vista, or first seen. Landing on 
a small island on this coast, they gave it the appellation 
of St. John's, from its discovery on the day dedicated to 
St. John the Baptist. This island proved to be barren; 
but the surrounding seas teemed with fish. The na- 
tives were clothed in skins, and armed with bows, arrows, 
pikes, wooden clubs, darts, and slings. The naviga- 
tors returned to England with three of those savages on 
board, made a report of their discoveries, and met with 
a gracious reception from their delighted prince. 

Cabot the father dying soon after, a fresh patent was 
granted to his son Sebastian, to proceed again in quest of 
new discoveries : he accordingly set sail on the fourth of 
May, 1497, before Columbus had commenced his third 
voyage. He sailed as high as 67 deg. 30 min. north la- 
titude, from whence shaping his course southerly, he 
D 3 came 



?S SEBASTIAN CABOT. 

came down to 56 dcg. after which he explored the wholff 
coast of North America, as low as 38 deg. This part 
of the continent, he expressly says, was, afterwards named 
Florida. His provisions beginning to be exhausted, he 
found it expedient to sail back ; and, first touching at 
Newfoundland, returned to England with a full cargo 
of the productions of the countries which he had visited.. 

It is probable that Sebastian made several subsequent 
voyages to compleat his survey of the coast of New- 
foundland. A chart of his discoveries, drawn by him- 
self, with his effigies annexed, was hung up as a curiosity 
in the private gallery at Whitehall. 

Purchas, with the laudable partiality of a man who 
feels for the honour of his country, expresses some in- 
dignation, that the new western world should be named 
America, when in fact Cabot had discovered that con- 
tinent before Americus Vesputius, or even Columbus 
hifriself. 

Newfoundland, in its most extensive sense, was cer- 
tainly the first of our plantations ; and the spirit of en- 
terprize to which the discoveries of Cabot gave rise', 
naturally paved the way to the subsequent naval power, 
the commerce, and the glory, of the British nation. 
While Spain was enervated and rendered indolent by 
the riches poured into her lap from the discoveries of Co- 
lumbus, it was the happier fate of England to secure 
such a soil and climate as gave a new stimulus to exer- 
tion, and rendered her enterprizing sons still more hardy 
and more brave. 

Of the history of a man who, without doubt, first dis- 
covered the continent of America, every trace must be 
interesting to a Briton. But, for the space of twenty 
years of his life, no vestiges of his labours are on re- 
cord. In the eighth year of Henry VIII. he again ap- 
pears on the stage; and was then, through the interest 
©f Sir Thomas Pert, vice-admiral of England, furnished 

with 



SEBASTIAN CABOT. v 79 

with a good ship of the king's, to prosecute fresh disco- 
veries. It seems, he had by this time altered his plan, 
and his intention was to sail by the south to the East In- 
dies. For this purpose he proceeded to Brasil: but, 
failing in the grand design of his voyage, he shaped his 
course for St. Domingo and Porto Rico; and, after carry- 
ing on some traffic there, returned to England, without 
much increasing, however, his reputation by this expe- 
dition. 

Disappointed, and probably neglected in consequence 
of his failure, he left his native country, and entered into 
the service of Spain, in wh ch he rose to the highest rank 
and signalized himself in many hazardous attempts, to, 
promote the views of his employers. Fortune, however, 
frowned upon him once more. In an intended voyage 
to the Moluccas, through the Straits of Magellan, his 
men became mutinous, and 'his project was thereby frus- 
trated. He, however, sailed up the rivers Plata and 
Paraguay, built several forts, and discovered and reduced 
a rich and fertile tract of country, under the dominion 
of Spain. After spending five years in America, he re- 
turned in chagrin to the former country, where he met 
with but a cold reception. 

These circumstances, probably, conspired to make 
him anxious for revisiting his native land; and about 
the latter end of the reign of Henry VII. we find him 
settled again at Bristol. 

A spirit of maritime adventure beginning by this time 
to be diffused through England, Cabot, in 1552, was 
' active in a speculation to fit out ships for discovering , 
the northern parts of the globe, and thereby to explore 
new scenes of action, and open new channels of com- 
merce. This expedition took place under the patronage 
of. government, and was the first voyage ever made to 
Russia ; a voyage which laid the foundation of the inter- 
course that has since subsisted, to the mutual profit of 

both 



80 BISHOP JEWELL. 

both nations. Upon this first success, a Russian Com- 
pany was formed; of which Cabot was constituted 
governor for life. 

After an active life, spent in pursuits honourable to 
himself, and useful to his country and to mankind, he 
died in a very advanced age ; and retained his cheerful- 
ness of temper and urbanity of manners to the last. 
Though his nautical fame is certainly inferior to that 
which is justly ascribed to Columbus, his claims, as an 
original discoverer, are yet far superior to those of Ame- 
ricus Vesputius. But fortune, influenced, in this case, 
by chance or caprice*, has given the latter a celebrity 
which is neither equitable nor just. Thus one man fre- 
quently earns the palm, while another carries away the 
prize. 

It has been observed that Cabot was the first mariner 
who noticed the variation of the magnetic needle, so 
important in the science of navigation; but, although 
this may be the fact, it must have occurred antecedently 
to the first voyage of Columbus; as all the historians of 
his adventurous enterprize agree, that this phenomenon^ 
which has never yet been satisfactorily explained, great- 
ly perplexed and astonished that spirited navigator* 
amidst the unknown seas which he was traversing. 



JOHN JEWELL, 

BISHOP OF SALISBURY. 

Bom 1522— Died 1571. 
From 13 th Henry Fill, to I3t/i Elizabeth. 

IN purity of manners, integrity of life, and well-tem- 
pered zeal in defence of the protestant cause, Dr. 
John Jewell furnishes ail amiable example, which de- 
serves 



BISHOP JEWELL. 81 

serves to be handed down to posterity, both as an incen- 
tive and a pattern. His works also on polemical theo- 
logy; at a time when this species of writing had its utility 
and its praise, still rank him high among the champions 
of religious liberty, and the learned apologists for a se- 
paration from the church of Rome. 

This eminent divine was descended from an ancient 
family in Devonshire, and was born at the village of 
Buden in that county. He received the first rudiments 
of classical learning under his maternal uncle, a respect- 
able clergyman: and passing successively through the 
schools at Branton, South Molton, and Barnstaple, 
where his progress must have been considerable, though 
the little incidents of his puerile days are unrecorded, 
before he had attained the age of fourteen he was entered 
of Merton college, in the university of Oxford. 

His first tutor was a man of no literary eminence, and 
rather inimical to the doctrines of the reformation. At 
the period when the intellectual powers begin to expand, 
principles generally sink deep; and had not this promis- 
ing youth been soon after committed to the care of ano- 
ther gentleman, in every respect the reverse of his 
former tutor, it is possible that protestantism might have 
lost one of its ablest defenders, and most exemplary or- 
naments, by the deleterious opinions of his academic 
guide. 

Having, however, imbibed the tenets of the reformed 
religion, and distinguished himself by his aptitude for 
learning, and his assiduity in its acquisition, he removed 
to Corpus Christi college, where he was chosen scholar ; 
and pursued his theological studies with such ardour,' 
that he became almost wholly absorbed by them. It is 
recorded of him, that he read from four in the morning 
till ten at night, almost regardless of the calls of nature; 
by which indefatigable perseverance he acquired a most 
extensive fund of knowledge, but at the expence of his 
D 5 health, 



82 iisiloP Jjewfelfc* 

health, an object of so much importance to maintam 
and secure, that youth should never overlook its value, 
either in their thirst for innocent pleasure, or even the 
laudable ambition of literary acquirements. Inconse- 
quence of neglecting a cold, he contracted a lameness 
which attended him to the grave ; and in other respects 
he had sapped his constitution, before he reached the 
prime of life. 

His abilities, however, Were so conspicuous, and his 
virtues so great, that he commenced tutor with general 
applause, and initiated many in the doctrines of the re- 
formation. Being afterwards chosen professor of rheto- 
ric in his college, he read lectures with distinguished 
reputation, and daily added to his celebrity and his in- 
fluence. So estimable, too, was his moral character, 
that the dean, a rigid papist, used to exclaim, " I should 
love thee, Jewell, if thou wertnot a Zuiriglian. In thy 
faith I hojd thee to be a heretic, but in thy life thou art 
an angel." 

When Edward VI. mounted the throne, Mr. Jewell 
made a public profession of his principles, and contract- 
ed an intimate friendship with Peter Martyr, the divi- 
nity-professor of the university. On proceeding bachelor 
In divinity, he preached an excellent Latin sermon in de- 
fence of the protestant doctrine, and sedulously attended 
to his pastoral duty at Sunningwell, in Berks, of which 
he was rector, Whither he regularly walked every Sun- 
day, notwithstanding his painful lameness. 

The short reign of Edward, and the bigotry of hrs 
successor Mary, soon exposed Mr. Jewell, to all the rage 
of persecution. The fellows of his own college lost no 
time in expelling him for heresy ; but the university, out 
of respect to his abilities, or, as others say, with a design 
to entrap him, appointed him to draw up and deliver its 
congratulatory address on the queen's accession. The 
address, l)€wever, was composed with such felicity of 

matter 



BISHOP JEWELL. 83 

matter and expression, that it not only passed without 
censure, but was favourably received by all parties. 

Unwilling to quit the scene of his honourable labours, 
he withdrew to Broadgate-hall, now Pembroke college, 
where he continued his lectures ; but, popery being re- 
established, and his life in danger, he was drawn into a 
compulsive signature of tenets which his heart and rea- 
son abjured. His enemies so well knew the inefficacy of 
his subscription, that they determined to deliver him up 
to Bonner, the grand inquisitor; but he avoided their 
vigilance ; and, taking a bye-road towards London, by 
night, walked till he was quite exhausted, and obliged 
to lie down upon the ground. In this situation he was 
providentially found by a benevolent Swiss, who had 
formerly been in the service of bishop Latimer, and 
who conducted him to the house of a lady, w r here he met . 
with a hospitable reception, and by whom he was after- 
wards privately conveyed to London. 

The zeal and friendship of Sir Nicholas Throgmorton 
furnished him with means of reaching the continent, 
where he immediately joined his former associate, Peter- 
Martyr, who had preceded him ; and with that learned 
divine settled first at Strasburgh, and afterwards at 
Zurich, where profession of the reformed religion was 
neither criminal nor dangerous. The society which 
they kept was distinguished for erudition, and zeal for 
protestantism ; and their situation was not uncomforta- 
ble; but, on the joyful news of Elizabeth's accession, 
Dr. Jewell returned to his native land, where his fame 
and reputation had suffered no diminution by his volun- 
tary exile, but rather gained an ample increase. In 
consequence of this, he was particularly favoured by 
the queen, and soon after his return appointed one of the 
sixteen Protestant divines to hold a disputation in West- 
minster Abbev, against the champions of popery. 

DO The 



8tt BISHOP JEWELL. 

The tide of preferment now flowed on apace, and in 
quick succession, he rose to several dignities, which were 
soon after crowned by his elevation to the mitre. In 
1559 he was consecrated bishop of Salisbury; and never 
were ecclesiastical rank and emolument more judiciously 
bestowed. Dr. Jewell, in the most critical times, had 
shewn his attachment to the reformation ; he had en- 
forced its doclxmes both by his eloquence and his writ- 
ings, and he had adorned them by his blameless life and 
exemplary conversation. 

The papists, however, though often confuted, were 
not to be confounded. The more absurd any tenets are, 
the stronger hold they take on minds of a certain cast. 
The feeble intellect is dazzled by what it cannot com- 
prehend: and it regards the delusions of plausible de- 
signing men as the sacred mysteries of religion. On 
this account the bishop of Salisbury found it necessary 
to be instant in season and out of season, in order to 
trace and disconcert the schemes, and to break through 
the snares, of an insidious and domineering party. He 
impeached some of the leading dogmas of the Romish 
church, and challenged the whole world to defend them; 
but the Papists, though they did not altogether decline 
the controversy, knew too well the disadvantageous 
ground on which they now stood, to enter the lists with 
him in public. 

The bishop, encouraged by success, and emboldened 
by the present aspedt of affairs, published his famous 
"Apology for the Church of England;" a work which 
was translated into all the modern languages of Europe, 
and even into Greek ; a work that, in its day, did more 
service to the cause of the information, and more injury 
to popery, than almost any other that can be named, or 
put in competition with it; a work that still deserves to 
be read by every member of the church of England; 
and, in short, by every Protestant who wishes to know 

the 



BISHOP JEWELL. 85 

the foundation of the principles which he professes to 
believe and follow. 

But Dr. Jewell was not only celebrated as an able 
defender of the protestant faith, but he carried a spirit 
of reform into every ecclesiastical department within 
the sphere of his jurisdiction. He corrected clerical 
abuses; he purified the courts, and made them instru- 
ments of utility, instead of engines to oppression. 

While engaged in such truly honourable public pur- 
suits, and in an unwearied application to private studies, 
he began to feel the strength of his body unequal to the 
vigour of his mind ; yet no persuasion of friends, no 
affectionate warnings of the danger which he incurred, 
could prevail on him to relax into the least indulgence 
to himself. He persisted in his usual practice of rising 
at four in the morning; at five he called his-family to 
prayers; at six he attended the public worship in the 
cathedral; and the remainder of the morning he devoted 
to study. Some part of the afternoon was taken up in 
public audiences, and the transaction of business ; at 
nine in the evening he examined his servants how they 
had spent the day, and afterwards joined with them in 
family devotion. From this time till midnight he with- 
drew to his study, and even when at last he was dis- 
posed to indulge nature in repose, one of his chaplains 
generally read to him till he fell asleep. 

A life so watchful, so laborious, without any relaxa- 
tion, except the change from one engagement to ano- 
ther; without any recreation, except at moderate and 
hasty meals ; could not fall to hasten the advances of 
mortality, and to abridge the number of his days. But, 
if living be estimated by action, Dr. Jewell may be said 
to have reached longevity. Except very few hours de- 
dicated to sleep, his duration might be said to be wholly 
life; and even when the monitions of his approaching 
5 end 



86 SIR THOMAS GRESHAM. 

end could no longer be disregarded, it was his constant 
observation, " that a bishop should die preaching." 

His sense of the episcopal duty was undoubtedly very 
strong ; and it may be said almost literally, fnat he died 
at his post. Having promised to preach at a church in 
his diocese, he set out, when evidently labouring under 
a severe illness, regardless of the impending danger. He 
preached his last sermon, but with difficulty ; and soon 
after resigned his immaculate soul into the hands of him 
who gave it, at Munkton Farley, and was buried in the' 
choir of Salisbury cathedral. 

The character of this primitive bishop will be best 
seen in his life and manners; but every particular re- 
specting such a worthy man cannot fail to be interesting. 
In his person he was thin and spare, the effect, probably, 
of his intense application to study ; in temper he was 
pleasant and affable, modest and meek ; in his morals 
he was pious and charitable; and, after he became a 
bishop, he seems to have made as near approaches to 
the standard of Christian perfection, as the weakness of 
human nature will fte^mit. He was gifted with a very 
tenacious memory, which he had improved to an extra- 
ordinary degree by art; so that he could exactly repeat 
whatever he wrote, after a single reading. This useful 
art he appears to have been capable of communicating 
to others. Of his skill in languages and his immense 
erudition he has left sufficient testimonies in his writings ; 
which, as far as they were practical, received an instruc- 
tive and persuasive comment from his life. 



SIR 



f 87 ) 
SIR THOMAS GRESHAM. 

Born 1519— Died, 1579. 
from \Otk Henri/ VUJ. to 2lst Elizabeth. 

IN the age of Elizabeth, our commerce began to ex- 
pand itself to the remotest parts of the world, and 
the character of a merchant to become as truly respecta- 
ble, as in the eye of reason, and the scale of utility, it 
certainly deserves to be. The national opulence of Bri- 
tain, her consequence, and her glory, arise neither from 
the peculiar fertility of the soil, the extent of the terri- 
tory, nor the number of inhabitants; in all which re- 
spects she is excelled or rivalled by her neighbours ; but 
from her shipping, manufactures, and trade, from the 
spirit of enterprize that actuates her capitalists, from the 
industry and skill of her artists, and from the skill and 
resolution of her seamen, which have carried the British 
flag, either to enrich or aggrandize their country, where- 
ever winds blow, or ocean rolls. 

But among all the mercantile characters who- in past or 
present times have done honour to their native lead, or 
immortalized their memory by laudable and benevolent 
actions, there are none that can be putin competition 
with GRESHAM; a man, who will be remembered 
with gratitude, while the city of London shall remain 
the emporium of nations, and while extensive commer- 
cial knowledge, combined with a love of science, shall 
merit esteem and reputation upon earth. 

Thomas Gresham was descended of an ancient family 
in Norfolk, several of which had borne the honour of 
knighthood, and among the rest his father Sir Richard, 
. who was sheriff of London in 1531, and much employed 
by Henry VIII. in his foreign contracts and negotia- 
tions. He had two sons, the elder of whom, though 

bred 



88 SIR THOMAS GRESHAM. 

bred to his father's business, accompanied the protector 
Somerset, m his expedition to Scotland, and was knight- 
ed by him in the field of battle at Musselborough ; but 
died in the reign of queen Mary. The younger, the 
subject of the present memoirs, was also bound very 
early to the trade of a mercer; but it appears probable 
that this was only to initiate him in a general knowledge 
of business; for neither his birth nor his fortune re- 
quired that he should, for any length of time, submit to 
the drudgery of a counter. 

It is to be lamented, however, that we can scarcely 
recover one particular of this celebrated merchant's early 
life. It is certain that he received a classical education ; 
and, notwithstanding his apprenticeship, we find him 
passing some years at Caius college, Cambridge, under 
its great founder, Dr. Caius, who in compliment to the 
learning and proficiency of his pupil, calls him, " Merca- 
tor Doctissimus," or the very learned merchant. 

But, though the higher departments of trade are by 
no means incompatible with the greatest advances in 
learning, Gresham's destination in life, much for his in- 
terest and credit, being early fixed by paternal solicitude, 
he soon engaged in active commerce, which put an end, 
in a great measure, to his literary pursuits, although 
not to his zeal in the cause of learning. He was made 
free of the Mercers company, and about the same time 
married the widow of a gentleman by the name of 
Reade. 

On the demise of his father, who had been the king's 
agent at Antwerp, another person was appointed to that 
office ; but, either from his wanting abilities or integrity, 
he involved his sovereign in considerable difficulties; 
and young Gresham, being consulted on the mode of 
extricating his majesty from the pressure of certain pecu- 
niary engagements, gave such a shrewd and satisfactory 
opinion, that he was immediately authorized to carry 

his 



SIR THOMAS GRESHAM. 8Q 

his own ideas into execution, and removed to Antwerp 
with his family, in quality of royal agent. 

Here he soon found himself involved in a business of 
great intricacy, arising from the want of prompt respon- 
sibility in his government; the fertility of his invention, 
however, enabled him to accomplish the object in view 
with honour to himself, and advantage to his employer. 
Having discovered the selfish and intriguing disposition 
of the Flemings, he counteracted it in the most effectual 
manner for the service of his country ; and raised the 
reputation of England to such an unusual pitch, that he 
could with facility borrow money on equitable terms, 
either on account of government, or by his own private 
credit. He turned the balance of trade wholly in favour 
of England, and so raised the course of exchange, that 
money flowed apace into his native country, which had 
been exhausted before, and was even deeply in debt to 
the citizens of Antwerp. 

However, on the accession of queen Mary, he was 
removed from his appointment; but not before he had 
obtained sufficient grants from his late royal master to 
enable him to live with credit in the style of a private 
gentleman. ■ In a patent, settling a pension on him and 
his heirs for ever, signed only three weeks before 
Edward's death, among other honourable expressions 
are these words, " You shall know that you have served 
a king." 

During the reign of Mary he was rather a petitioner 
for justice, than an object of favour; but when Elizabeth 
ascended the throne, and merit was confident of royal 
regard, he was among the first citizens of London that 
experienced her discriminating attention. She employed 
him to furnish the arsenals with arms, and soon after, 
conferred on him the honour of knighthood, and made 
him her agent in foreign parts. 

Among his fellow-citizens his credit, at this period, 

had 



gO SIR THOMAS GRESHAM. 

had arrived at a very high pitch ; and in order more en- 
tirely to establish his connections among them, he Built 
a spacious house on the west side of Bishopsgate street, 
afterwards called Gresham College, where he lived in a 
style becoming his character, opulence, and station. 

But that prosperity which had hitherto been his con- 
stant attendant with little variation, was now inter-* 
rupted by the severest domestic calamity. He had an 
only son named Richard, about sixteen years of age: his 
toils and his cares were all probably directed to secure 
the fortune and to promote the welfare of this object of 
his fondest affection ; but he was deprived of this his 
only solace, his son and his heir, in the very opening 
bloom of youth, before it was possible that his virtues 
could be developed, or his faults, if he possessed any 
-could diminish the anguish of a parent's sorrow. 

Being now destituie of a natural representative, he 
began to embrace and adopt the public. The strong 
ties, which bound him to his offspring, being for ever 
dissolved, with the dignity of a man, who still wished to 
perpetuate his name by honourable service, he turned 
his thoughts to the welfare of his fellow-citizens, among 
whom he lived highly respected and beloved. 

The merchants of London had hitherto met to trans- 
act business in the open air in Lombard-street, subject to 
all the inclemencies of the weather; and he conceived 
that he could not more essentially serve them, than by 
erecting an Exchange for their use, on the plan of the 
Bourse at Antwerp. Animated with this liberal idea, 
he only requested the corporation to assign him over an 
eligible spot of ground for the purpose, and he promised 
to erect the edifice at his own expence. It was impossi- 
ble that an offer of such a disinterested nature could be 
considered with indifference. The citizens assigned him 
the site of eighty houses in Cornhill, which were pulled 
down; and on the seventh of June 1567t sir Thomas 

laid 



SIR THOMAS GRESHAM. ()1 

laid the first stone of the Exchange; which was raised 
with such extraordinary diligence, that it was completed 
before Christmas. 

When the fabric was fit for use, and the shops within 
its precincts opened, Elizabeth, attended by her cour- 
tiers, made a procession to inspect it ; and being highly 
gratified with the munificence and taste of her subject 
and agent, she ordered a herald, by sound of trumpet, 
to proclaim it the Royal Exchange; an appellation 
which she desired it might ever afterwards retain. 

This structure, however, though sufficiently splendid 
and capacious for that period, was by no means equal in 
grandeur to the present. The dreadful fire in London, 
in 1666, consumed it with numerous other public and 
private buildings: and out of its ashes rose the present 
pile, which was finished at the joint expence of the city 
and the mercers' company, at the cost of 80,0001. 

It is impossible to do adequate justice in a general 
work, to the patriotic exertions of Sir Thomas Gresham, 
either in the service of his sovereign, or of his fellow- 
citizens. Philip II. having in the rage of disappoint- 
ment, prohibited all commerce in Flanders with the 
English, Cecil then Secretary of State, found it ex- 
pedient to consult Sir Thomas on the probable conse- 
quences of this measure, and the best means of coun- 
teracting its effects. His advice appeared so judicious, 
that it was immediately adopted, and proved so salutary, 
that the machinations of the enemy were converted to 
their own injury and disappointment. At his instiga- 
tion, government not only averted the danger of a re- 
striction on the English trade, but concerted means of 
being more essentially independent on foreign nations. 
Till this period all loans had been negociated on the con- 
tinent; a circumstance by which this country was im- 
poverished, and aliens were enriched. A new scene, 
however, was now opened ; it was determined to try 

raising 



Q2 SIR THOMAS GRESHAM. 

raising of money on the merchant adventurers in Lon- 
don ; and though* at first, from the novelty of the plan, 
and the general ignorance of the monied men, it met 
with a very cool reception, yet by the interest of Gre- 
shamitwas at last carried into full execution; and thus 
a revolution in the financial operations of the govern* 
ment was effected, at once tending to ensure its stability, 
and to promote the interest of the subject. 

The prudent regulations, adopted at this period, ren- 
dered a foreign agent no longer necessary for money ne- 
gotiations, and Sir Thomas Gresham was superseded by 
his own public-spirited designs: but Elizabeth, who was 
not insensible to his distinguished merit, immediately 
joined him in an honourable commission with the arch- 
bishop of C anterbury, the bishop of London, and some 
lords of the council, who were usually appointed assist- 
ants to the lord mayor in the government of the city, 
during her majesty's splendid progresses through her 
dominions. 

A life so full of activity as Sir Thomas Greshara's 
was not likely to leave much space for indulgence and 
sequestration; the mercantile world was not only the 
scene of his occupation, but of his pleasure : he loved the 
society of men whose views had been enlarged by com- 
merce, and was never more happy than on his favourite 
Exchange ; yet as years came on, he found some relaxa- 
tion necessary, and therefore purchased an estate at 
Osterley, where he built a magnificent seat, for his occa- 
sional retreat from the cares of business and the bustle 
of the capital. 

But his very hours of amusement were not spent in 
vain. A vigorous mind from every object elicits some 
improvement; a benevolent heart is never removed 
from the sphere of its exertions. He erected paper, oil 
and corn mills in his park at Osterley, which at once 
filled up the leisure of the proprietor by superinten- 

dance r 



SIR THOMAS GRESHAM. Q3 

dance, and furnished constant employment to various 
descriptions of artificers and labourers, who depended 
on him' for their daily bread. At this seat queen Eliza* 
beth visited the " Royal Merchant/' as he used to be 
called ; and was magnificently entertained. Her ma- 
jesty, however, pointing out an improvement in the 
court before the house, which she said would look better, 
if divided ; Sir Thomas, anxious to shew his respect for 
his sovereign's taste, privately sent to London for work- 
men ; and when the queen rose next morning, she was 
astonished to find her suggestion completely carried into 
execution. 

We have already mentioned that this opulent and 
worthy citizen had the misfortune to lose his only son, 
and that Providence had intercepted the means of per- 
petuating his name, except by his own noble and 
praise-worthy actions. The Exchange alone would have 
rescued his memory from oblivion ; but so rapidly had 
his fortune accumulated by his consummate judgment 
in mercantile transactions, that he began to project new 
schemes of beneficence to his fellow-citizens and to man- 
kind. 

The city of London having no establishment express- 
ly devoted to the liberal sciences, and the merchants of 
his time from want of education, being commonly obsti- 
nate and prejudiced, as Sir Thomas had witnessed on 
many occasions in his intercourses with them ; he reflect- 
ed that he could not more effectually promote their wel- 
fare and their credit, than by converting his mansion- 
house in Bishopsgate-street into a college, and endowing 
it with sufficient revenues for professors in the seven 
sciences, divinity, law, physic, astronomy, geometry, 
music, and rhetoric. In this he followed the plan of 
academic institution; though it cannot be denied that 
lectures adapted to the local circumstances of the great 

emporium 



$4 SIR THOMAS G-RESHAM. 

emporium of the world, would now be more dseirablfc 

and beneficial. 

No sooner, however, was this generous design di- 
vulged, than the ruling men in the university of Cam- 
bridge made use of every argument to induce him to 
alter his plan, and of every solicitation for the prefe- 
rence in his favour. As his own alma mater^ it might be 
naturally expected that he would rather found a college 
there than in Oxford ; and they expatiated on the dan- 
ger of affecting the interests of the two established uni- 
versities, by raising rival institutions in London. His 
partiality for Cambridge was no doubt strong, but it 
was still stronger in favour of the metropolis. He per- 
severed, therefore, in his first intention ; and on the 20th 
of May, 1575, executed a deed of settlement, by which, 
after the demise of his lady, should she happen to sur- 
vive him, his town-house was to be converted into a 
college, and sufficient revenues were assigned for the 
support of the professors. 

Having given to his proposed institution all the sta- 
bility which legal sanctions could confer, and bequeath* 
ed by will considerable sums to several private and pub- 
lic charities, particularly the hospitals ; like a man who 
had performed an honourable part in life, and was 
ambitious to benefit the world when he was called from 
this transitory scene ; he began to court retirement, and 
that tranquillity which is best suited to declining age. 
And few had more claims to the peaceful enjoyment of 
the last hours of life, than Sir Thomas Gresham. His 
fortune was so ample as to preclude every anxious care, 
and the reflection on the long series of pious and bene- 
volent actions which he had performed, must have re- 
galed his mind with the solace of conscious worth. Be- 
loved and respected, he enjoyed the smiles of deserved 
friendship and the homage of the public ; and had his 

days 



SIR THOMAS GRESHAM. Q5 

days been protracted to a much longer period, it is pro- 
bable from his diposition and his conduct, that the last 
would have still been more honourable than the former. 

But in four years after he had adjusted his worldly 
affairs in a manner which will ever reflect lustre on his 
name, he was seized with a fit of apoplexy in his own 
house, immediately on his return from the Exchange ; 
and falling suddenly down, all attempts to restore him 
proved ineffectual. 

His obsequies were performed in a public and solemn 
manner, worthy the respect due to so distinguished a 
citizen: and his charitable deeds may be said to have 
followed him to the grave ; as his hearse was attended 
by a hundred poor men, and as many poor women, for 
whom he had ordered appropriate funeral dresses at his 
cxpence, whenever the aweful ceremony should take 
place* 

From the best accounts that have been transmitted to 
us, it appears that this truly patriotic citizen was 
throughout of a temper generous and benign ; and that 
his posthumous chanty was only a continuation of the 
munificence that had adorned his life. He was well 
versed in ancient and modern languages ; and shewed a 
predilection for learning, and its professors, whether 
natives or foreigners. Some acknowledged his patronage 
in very handsome terms; among the rest, John Fox, the 
martyrologist. Few have equalled his public spirit, and 
few can claim a larger tribute of esteem and gratitude. 
He who lives only for himself, will soon be forgotten^ 
but he, whose labours are directed to the perpetual bene- 
fit of the community, may lay claim to immortality as 
his reward* 



JAMES 



( 96 ) 
JAMES CRICHTON; 

Commonly known by the Appellation of 

THE ADMIRABLE CRICHTON. 

Born about 1560 — Died about 1582. 
From IStk Edward VI. to 2±th Elizabeth. 

TO magnify what is great, and to diminish what is 
little, seems to be a disposition natural to men* 
Else how can we account for the adscititious qualities 
ascribed to the person long known by the name of The 
Admirable Crichton, which are so vague and partake so 
much of the marvellous, that the prodigious and unpa- 
ralleled talents, which he actually possessed, have in con- 
sequence been brought into dispute ; and, if the concur- 
ring testimony of contemporaries did not identify his 
fame, his very existence might in time have become 
questionable. 

If it should be asked, why we select a character so 
enveloped in legend by partial admirers, and so aspersed 
by sceptical revilers, that half its native excellencies are 
obscured, it is because we think it honourable to our 
kind to shew that such extraordinary persons have ap- 
peared on this mundane stage; and because a display of 
such endowments, according to their most moderate 
estimate, cannot fail to have a potent effect on the gene- 
rous minds of youth, when they see what is attainable 
by man. 

The aera of the birth of this prodigy has been vari- 
ously related; but according to the earl of Buchan, the 
latest inquirer, he first saw the light in 1560. His 
father soon after became lord advocate of Scotland; his 
mother was a Stuart, and lineally descended from the 

family 



james cjuchto:n t . 97 

royal family of Scotland ; so that Crichton in the subse- 
quent scenes of life did not boast without reason of his 
high extraction. 

He is said to have received his grammatical learning 
at Perth; but if we may give credit to Aldus Manutius, 
who afterwards became intimately acquainted with him, 
he studied under Buchanan, and other preceptors of 
James I. along with his majesty. 

That rtiebest masters in every branch of learning fell 
to the lot of Crichton, may well be inferred from his 
proficiency; and it is absolutely impossible that he 
could have imbibed his various knowledge from any one 
man of the age in which he lived, strong as the natural 
force of his genius must have been. However, Ruther- 
ford, at that time a famous professor at St. Andrew's, had 
the honour of being his tutor at that university; and de- 
rives much greater celebrity from his forming such a 
scholar, than from his own commentaries on Aristotle, 
which are now obsolete and useless. 

By the time Crichton had reached his twentieth year, 
he had run through the w r hole circle of the sciences, and 
was a capital master often languages; which, from his 
vast memory, were judged to be as familiar to him as 
his mother-tongue. Nor was his fame confined merely 
to literary excellence: he seemed to combine the most 
discordant qualities, and was without a rival in all 
athletic exercises. It is recorded of him, that in fencing 
he could spring at one bound the length of twenty feet 
on his antagonist ; and could use the sword in either 
hand, with equal dexterity. He had also a fine voice, 
and great skill in playing on musical instruments. His 
person and countenance were alike eminently beautiful, 
which served to set off all his other accomplishments; 
for even virtue in a graceful form never fails to be more 
acceptable. 

Thus qualified, he set out on his travels, and, as it 
E should 



<)8 JAMES CRICHTON. 

should appear, fully sensible of his marvellous acquire- 
merits, and fired with an ambition to display them. 
Having reached Paris, he affixed a kind of challenge on 
the gate of the college of Navarre, inviting the learned 
of that university to a disputation on a certain day ; giv- 
ing his opponents, whoever they might be, the choice of 
ten languages, and of all the faculties and sciences. 

After such a bold and novel step for a youth still in 
his minority, it might have been supposed that be would 
have devoted the interval to refresh his memory at least, 
and prepare himself against every advantage that could 
reasonably be taken of his unguarded provocation. But 
the reverse appears to have been the fact. He gave 
himself wholly up to private pleasures, or public manly 
exercises. He engaged in every diversion and in every 
dissipation with the same ardour; and became so con- 
temptible in the eyes of the students at the university, 
that beneath his own placard they caused to be written, 
" that the most likely place in which to find this mon- 
ster of perfection would be the tavern or the brothel." 

But Crichton soon redeemed his character, and covered 
his detractors with confusion. On the appointed day he 
attended in presence of three thousand auditors ; and, 
after a disputation of nine hours against four doctors of 
the church and fifty masters, he silenced his antagonists, 
and was presented with a diamond and a purse of gold, 
amidst the loudest acclamations. Every passion that 
had agitated, the university, was now converted to admi- 
ration; and one of his opponents is said to have confess- 
ed, that Crichton, who now obtained the epithet of" Ad- 
mirable," gave proofs of knowledge almost more than 
human, and that one hundred years, spent in an inces- 
sant application to study, would not be sufficient for the 
attainment of such learning. It is farther added, that so 
little was the youthful champion fatigued with the dis- 
pute, that the very next day he attended a tilting-match 

to 



JAMES CRICHTON. 99 

at die Louvre, where, in presence of the court of France, 
he bore away the ring on his lance fifteen times, sue- 
cessively. 

The next account we have of Crichton places him at 
Rome, where he fixed a placard on all the most public 
places throughout the city, couched in the following 
terms: " Nos Jacobus Crichtonus, Scotus, cuicumque 
rei propositi ex improviso respondebimus." In a city 
so famous for scholastic learning and wit, a challenge 
that bore such apparent marks of presumption could not 
escape a pasquinade. He was considered as a literary 
empiric, and the place of his residence was indicated to 
such as wished to see his exhibitions : but Crichton, in 
no wise daunted, entered the lists which he had sought, 
and, in the presence of the pope and his cardinals, bore 
away the palm of victory. 

Leaving Rome, he directed his course to Venice; and, 
if we may judge from the Latin lines still extant, which 
he composed on this occasion, notwithstanding all the 
reputation which he had acquired, he was either dis- 
tressed in mind, or laboured under some embarrassment 
in his pecuniary affairs. Having, however, introduced 
himself to Aldus Manutius, by means of that distin- 
guished scholar, who was amazed by his extraordinary 
endowments, he was introduced to the literati of that 
city, and afterwards had the honour to attract the no- 
tice of the doge and senate; before whom he pronounced 
an unpremeditated complimentary oration with such 
dignified elocution and force of eloquence, that he re- 
ceived the thanks of that illustrious body, and was uni- 
versally considered as the prodigy of human nature. 

From Venice he repaired to Padua, whose university, 
at that time, was in the highest reputation. Here he 
engaged in another disputation, beginning witn an ex- 
temporaneous poem in praise of the place and his au- 
ditors : and after disputing six hours with the most cele- 
E 2 brated 



100 JAMES CRICHTON. 

bvated professors, whom he foiled on every subject which 
they started, by his superior acuteness in dialectics, he 
concluded, to the astonishment of every hearer, with an 
unpremeditated poem in commendation of ignorance. 

Amidst all the literary laurels that he won, he conti- 
nued his pursuit of pleasure with the same eagerness as 
if it had been his sole study. So contradictory were his 
merits, and such was the versatility of his talents, that 
he became the subject of envy as much as admiration. 
Few were willing to allow one man to carry away so 
many prizes; and in proportion to his fame arose the 
opposition of his revilers. Crichton was not insensible 
of this ; and to silence at once the invidious impugners 
of his talents, he caused a paper to be posted up, in which 
he offered to prove that there were innumerable errors 
in the works of Aristotle, and gross ignorance in his in* 
terpreters: at the same time, that he was ready to dispute 
in all the sciences, to answer any questions, and to repel 
any objections, either by logic, or an hundred kinds of 
verse, or by analytical investigations and mathematical 
figures. This contest, Manutius assures us, he maintain* 
cd for three days, without flagging ; and conducted him* 
self with such spirit and energy, and so completely van* 
qui shed his opponents, that he obtained the loudest 
plaudits that ever were elicited from men. 

The literary fame of the .admirable Crichton by this 
time had spread over the remotest parts of Italy; and 
when he came to Mantua, he had an opportunity of sig- 
nalizing himself by a feat of arms. A prize-fighter, who 
had defeated the most celebrated masters in Europe, 
had fixed his residence, for a time, in Mantua, and had 
killed three persons who had entered the lists against 
him. The duke, therefore, began to regret that he had 
granted his protection to this licensed murderer; which 
reaching the ears of Crichton, he was fired with the am- 
bition of ridding the world of such a sanguinary mon- 
2 ster; 



JAMES CRICHTON. 3 01 

ster; and offered to stake fifteen hundred pistoles, and to 
mount the stage against him. With some reluctance 
the prince consented ; and, every thing being prepared, 
this single combat was exhibited before the assembled 
cour.t, and an immense concourse of spectators. Their 
weapon seems to have been the single rapier, then newly 
introduced into Italy. The prize-iighter advanced with 
great impetuosity, while Crichton contented himself 
with parrying his thrusts, and suffered him to exhaust 
his own vigour, before he attempted to charge. At last, 
Watching his opportunity, Crichton became the assailant, 
and pressed upon his antagonist with such force and 
agility, that he run him thrice through the body, and saw 
him expire. Ke then generously divided the pri-.e 
which he had won among the widows whose husbands 
had been killed. 

The duke of Mantua conceived the highest esteem 
for this illustrious stranger, and made choice of him for 
preceptor to his son, Vincentio .di Gongaza, a prince of 
dissolute manners and a turbulent disposition. The ap- 
pointment was highly acceptable to the court; and 
Crichton, to evince his gratitude, and to contribute to 
the amusement of his patrons, composed, we are told, a 
comedy, in which he exposed and ridiculed all the prin- 
cipal weaknesses and miscarriages of men, with the most 
poignant satire and propriety of application; and in this 
play he himself exhibited fifteen duferenc characters, 
with such inimitable ease and grace, that he appeared 
every time to be a different person. 

But the time was now approaching, in which it was 
proved, that, with all his endowments, Crichton was no 
more than mortal. Roving about the streets one night, 
during the carnival, and playing on the guitar, he was 
attacked by six men in masks. His courage did not de- 
sert him on this critical occasion; he opposed them with 
such spirit and adroitness, that they were glad to fly ; 
E 3 and 



302 JAMES CRICHTOtf. 

and their leader being disarmed, threw off his mask, 
and begged his life. How must it have wounded the 
sensibility and confounded the reason of Crichton, to 
discover the prince, his pupil, as the suppliant! Instead 
of granting the forfeited boon of life, which was all that 
©ught to have been required, he fell on his knees, apolo- 
gized for his mistake; and, presenting the sword to 
Gonzaga, told him that he was always master of his 
existence, and needed not to have sought his death by 
treachery. The brutal prince, irritated by the affront 
which he had received, or, as some say, stung with jea- 
lousy, grasped the proffered instrument of destruction, 
and plunged it in his tutor's heart. 

Thus fell the admirable Crichton, in the very bloom 
©f youth, by the hands of a worse than common assassin. 
The court of Mantua testified their esteem for his me- 
mory by a pnblic mourning, and the contemporary wits 
expressed their grief in numerous elegiac compositions ; 
and for a long time afterwards his picture decorated the 
chambers and galleries of the Italian nobility, represent- 
ing him on horseback, with a lance in one hand, and a 
book in the other. 

The generality of his biographers fix his death in 
1583; but Lord Buchan, from the most minute inqui- 
ries, thinks it took place a year earlier, when he was still 
only twenty-two. 

That a man, who during his short but brilliant career 
filled such a space in the minds of men, should have the 
time of his birth and his exit disputed, as well as many 
of his most memorable atchievements is mortifying to 
those who are animated with a love of posthumous repu- 
tation. The case seems to be, whatever character is rais- ■ 
ed too high in one age, is sure to be sunk too low in an- 
otner. Envy, which is afraid to attack exalted living 
merit, consoles itself with preying on the dead. It first 
detects some anachronism, or some exaggerated praise, 

and 



SIR FRANCIS WALS1NGHAM. 103 

and then tries to invalidate the whole chain of evidence 
that coeval testimonies have produced* The fame of 
Crichton, like that of the actor, was chiefly confined to 
those who had witnessed his talents. He wrote little, 
but he performed much. The performance was soon 
forgotten, or blended with fiction; and the few speci- 
mens which he has left of his intellectual powers, either 
do not rise above mediocrity, or at least would not en- 
title him to singular praise. He blazed like a meteor 
for a moment: his confiscations dazzled the eyes of the 
beholder; but when he vanished, the impression which 
he had made was no where to be found. Yet we do not 
hesitate to pronounce him one of the most accomplished 
men that ever appeared on our sublunary sphere To 
those who feel the glow of genius, he furnishes an ex- 
ample of the heights to which it can ascend ; to those 
who are less gifted by nature, his unsettled life and his 
melancholy end may at least teach acquiescence in their 
providential allotments. 



SIR FRANCIS WALSINGHAM. 

Born 1536— Died 1590. 
From 27th Henry Fill, to Wad Elizabeth. 

NO period in English history is more illustrious than 
the reign of Elizabeth for the great men which it 
produced in every department of the state, and who 
were called into action by that penetrating judge of me- 
rit who then sat on the throne. Indeed, half the glory 
of this sovereign may be fairly ascribed to the abilities 
of her ministers: nor does this in the least derogate 
from her just fame; for, to adopt the sentiment of an 
acute discerner of men and manners, " no weak prince 
was ever known to choose a wise council." 

E 4 Among 



101 SIR FKANC1S WALSINGHAM. 

Among those worthies who contributed to the honour 
of Elizabeth's reign, and gave stability to her govern- 
ment, Sir Francis Walsingham will occupy a prominent 
place. As an able politician and an honest man he was 
celebrated by his contemporaries ; and he seems to have 
deserved the highest eulogiums which they could be- 
stow, as the subsequent notices of his life will evince. 

This statesman was born at Chislehurst, in Kent, of 
an ancient and honourable family; but it is matter of 
.serious regret that no memorials of his early life, which 
€an serve to stimulate the youthful bosom to follow his 
steps, have been preserved by the historians of his time* 
It only appears that he was educated at King's college, 
Cambridge, and soon after sent on his travels into fo- 
reign countries. His attachment to the principles of 
the reformation were, however, well known, while un- 
der the shade of academic bowers; and it was, perhaps, 
fortunate for him that he was engaged in distant pere- 
grinations during the sanguinary reign of Mary. 

With a genius turned for politics, he availed himself 
©f every opportunity which his travels afforded, of ac- 
quiring an intimate acquaintance with the laws, govern- 
ment, customs, and manners, of the nations on the Con- 
tinent; and such were his accomplishments and known 
aptitude for public business, that, on his return to his 
native land, he speedily attracted the notice and was 
taken into the confidence of Cecil ; by whom he was 
brought forward in a manner suitable to his talents and 
views. 

That he possessed a maturity of parts, even when he 
first launched on the ocean of politics, may be inferred 
from this circumstance: he was appointed ambassador 
to the court of France during the storms of the civil 
wars in that kingdom,. and acquitted himself there with 
sucji zeal and ability, in various important and delicate 
transactions, particularly in a negociation relative to a 

treaty 



SIR FRANCIS WALSINGHAM. 105 

treaty of marriage between his mistress and the duke of 
Alencon, and afterwards between her and die duke of 
Anjou, that he was ever after considered as fully quali- 
fied to discharge the most weighty trusts at home or 
abroad. The papers that passed during his embassies 
were collected by Sir Dudley Digges, and published un- 
der the title of the Complete Ambassador; from which, 
his penetration, his judgment, and his abilities, may be 
distinctly appreciated. But no part of his character is 
more estimable than his perfect disinterestedness. Eli- 
zabeth, though she could distinguish merit, was parsi- 
monious in her rewards. Walsingham, zealous to support 
the dignity of his station and to promote the interest of 
his sovereign, incurred greater expences than his public 
allowances would defray ; and it appears that he rather 
wasted than bettered his circumstances, during his ac- 
credited residence in France. On his return, however, 
he received the honour of knighthood ; and when his 
firm friend and patron, Cecil, was raised to the Peerage 
and maxle lord treasurer, Walsingham was appointed 
one of the secretaries of state, and sworn a privy coun- 
sellor. 

In this situation, he not only gratefully supported 
Burleigh's pow r er and influence, by which he had him- 
self risen; but on a variety of occasions detected and dis- 
concerted intrigues and conspiracies at home, and with 
an intuitive sagacity penetrated into the most secret 
designs of foreign cabinets. 

The states of Holland just rising into political conse- 
quence, Walsingham was sent over in 1578, as the 
queen's representative, at one of their early meetings ; 
and by his influence and address, he contributed much 
to form the basis of their union, which was successfully 
consolidated the following year. 

In short, on every occasion where skilful management 

and consummate address were deemed requisite, Wal- 

E 5 sin^ham 



106 SIR FRANCIS WALSINGHAM. 

singham had the honour to be employed. " To him," 
says Lloyd, " most faces spoke as well as their tongues, 
and their countenance was an index of their hearts." 
He also maintained a number of spies and agents, and 
thus developed the most secret designs, before they 
were ripe for execution. 

Attached to the protestant religion, he settled its con- 
stitutional polity, and disconcerted all the intrigues of 
the papists, who not only dreaded his penetration, but 
complained of his insidious artifice, which was an over- 
match for their own. At first he shewed a predilection 
for the puritans; but, finding that they would not make 
the least advance to uniformity, even in the most harm- 
less ceremonies, he left them to their narrow principles 
and obstinate prejudices. 

Intelligence having been received that the young king 
of Scotland, afterwards James I. of England, on whom 
the queen always kept a watchful eye, was placing his 
confidence on favourites whom she disliked, Walsingham 
was dispatched to break through his delusion, or to create 
a party in his court, and to oppose his minions. The 
latter point he effected ; but he seems to have formed a 
wrong estimate of the character and abilities of the 
youthful monarch. This prince testified an uncommon 
fondness for literature, and talked not irrationally on 
his favourite topics. Walsingham, being well versed in 
ancient and modern authors, pleased him by his quota- 
tions from Xenophon, Thucydides, Plutarch, and Taci- 
tus; and on subjects of general knowledge they inter- 
changed sentiments with mutual freedom and satisfac- 
tion. This politician thought he foresaw, that so much 
theory as James possessed, would, at a maturer age, be 
turned to useful practice, and he gave a report accord- 
ingly; in which, however, he was certainly mistaken. 
James might have made an useful academical tutor, 
or even a professor ; but his mind was rather contracted 

than 



SIR FRANCIS WALSINGHAM. 107 

than enlarged for public business, by his attachment to 
the classics, and his taste for polemics, in which, it must 
be allowed, he was an adept. A mind not originally 
great, is only rendered more conspicuously feeble by an 
undigested mass of learning ; just as a clown in a court- 
dress appears more ridiculous than in his own. 

When Elizabeth had determined on an act which 
forms the chief disgrace of her reign — the trial and con- 
demnation of her unfortunate rival, Mary ; Walsingham 
was appointed one of the commissioners on this tragi* 
cal business. He had previously exerted himself with 
great industry and effect to develope the plot of Babing* 
ton's conspiracy, in which Mary was implicated; and 
he appears to have been guided in this whole transac- 
tion, by the purest sentiments of loyalty and moral obli- 
gation ; for he rejected, as infamous, a scheme pressed 
by Leicester, of taking off the captive queen, by poison.= 

In the course of the trial, when Mary charged him 
with counterfeiting her cypher, and practising against 
her life and that of her son, Walsingham rose with a 
dignified emotion, and protested that his heart was free 
from all malice towards the prisoner.; calling God to 
witness, that in his private capacity he had done no- 
thing unbecoming an honest man, nor in his- public 
capacity any thing unworthy of his station. He de- 
clared that lie had done what his duty and allegiance 
prompted ;, and by those principles alone had he squar- 
ed his- conduct. Mary, with noble frankness and gene- 
rosity accepted his protestation, and even apologised for 
having given credit to what she had heard to his preju* 
dice. 

When all Europe was kept in fearful expectation by 
the vast armaments which the king of Spain was pre* 
paring, and no one could penetrate into his real desigr r 
Walsingham employed every manoeuvre that a long ha- 
bitude with politics could suggest, to discover this im : 
E 6 portant 



10$ SIR FRANCIS WALK INGHAM. 

portant secret ; and, learning from an emissary at Ma- 
drid, that the king had avowed to his council the sending 
off a letter to the pope, begging his benediction on the 
design which he had avowed in it, a design, however, 
that he did not chuse to divulge till he had obtained an 
answer; the artful secretary, having found this clue, by 
means of a Venetian priest, his spy at Rome, procured a 
copy of the original letter; which was stolen out of the 
pope's cabmet by a gentleman of his bedchamber, while 
he slept. 

Having by this dexterous management developed the 
mystery which had puz/.led the deepest politicians to 
unriddle ; by the obstacles which he raised up, he pre- 
vented the Spaniards from receiving those pecuniary 
i-rupplies which would have enabled them to put to sea; 
and thus the sailing of the armada was delayed for a 
whole year. 

Walsingham by his intense application to public bu- 
siness seems to have hastened that; moment which no 
power or address can at last escape. He died in the 
54th year of his age; and, though he had holden some 
of the highest and most lucrative stations, he did not 
leave enough behind him to defray the last offices due 
to mortality. To save his body from an arrest, his 
friends were obliged to bury him by night in St. Paul's 
church, without the respect and honour which were due 
to such a rare instance of political sagacity, disinterested 
zeal, and pure patriotism. He left only one daughter, 
who was married successively to three very distinguish- 
ed characters; Sir Philip Sidney, Devereux earl of Es- 
iex, and Bourke earl of Clanrickard and St. Albans. 

In Walsingham, his too penurious mistress lost one 
of her most faithful servants, and the public one of its 
best friends. He seems to have been one of those states- 
men in whom the noblest virtues love to dwell. He 
pursued the good of his country by all practicable 
> means, 






SIR FRANCIS WALSINGHAM. 100 

means, regardless of all other objects. He was emi- 
nently instrumental in promoting voyages of discovery, 
and every useful scheme of trade and navigation in ge- 
neral. The protestant religion found in him a warm 
and a judicious supporter; and all the machinations of 
Rome to overthrow it fell beneath his superior address. 

His negotiations, or state papers, display at once his 
lirerary and his political talents. A manual of pru- 
dential maxims, entitled Arcana Aidica, is likewise as- 
cribed to him, though with no sufficient authority. It 
is very probable, however, that some of the most valu- 
able sentiments found in this work were borrowed from 
him : one which his whole public life illustrated, we sub- 
join: " Knowledge is never bought too dear." 

That this great and good statesman was a patron of 
literature, is evident from his founding a divinity lecture 
at Oxford, as also a library at King's college, Cam- 
bridge. He assisted Hakluyt : and his purse as well as 
his influence were always at the service of those who 
were qualified to do honour to their country by their 
arms or arts, by their enterprize or their talents. It 
was impossible indeed to escape a man of Walsingham's 
penetration, that the patronage of merit and talents, in 
general, is the glory and the best support of govern- 
ment ; or, in other words, that knowledge and virtue 
are the gales by which states are waited into the port of 
prosperity, or driven on the quicksands of disgrace. 



SIR 



( HO ) 
SIR FRANCIS DRAKE. 

Born 1545r— Died 1596. 
From 36t/i Harry VIIL to SSt/i Elizabeth. 

THE illustrious names which throw a splendour on 
the age of Elizabeth are so numerous, that selec- 
tion becomes difficult. It produced men eminent in 
all the arts that give a security to nations, or embellish 
the walks of private life : heroes, adventurers, statesmen, 
poets, and scholars arose in quick succession, or rather 
were contemporaneous; and, ifw-e except the present 
and part of the past, in no preceding or subsequent reign 
have such brilliant naval achievements been performed. 
Among those, however* who by their courage and 
nautical skill contributed to ennoble their country, and 
the great princess whom they served, the first English 
circumnavigator, Drake, stands conspicuous in the tem- 
ple of Fame. He was the eldest of twelve children, 
and born at a village near Tavistock, in Devonshire. 
His father it seems was a mariner, but his actual cir- 
cumstances are unknown. However, he had the good 
fortune to be connected by marriage with Sir John Haw- 
kins, who took young Drake under his patronage, and 
gave him that kind of education which was best adapt- 
ed to a marine life, for which he was destined from his 
infancy. A cloud frequently hangs over the early years 
of celebrated characters, which biographers in vain at- 
tempt to pierce. Of the juvenile period of Drake's life, 
not an incident has descended to posterity. We are, 
therefore, obliged to take him up when he first entered 
on his profession, in an ostensible capacity. By the in- 
terest of his patron, co-operating with his own abilities, 
he was appointed purser of a ship, trading to Biscay, 

about 



SIR FRANCIS DRAKE. 1 J 1 

about the eighteenth year of his age. At twenty he 
made a voyage to Guinea, which then began to be visit- 
ed ; and two years after, he was appointed to the com- 
mand of the Judith. In that capacity, he particularly 
distinguished himself in the glorious action which took 
place under his patron, Sir John Hawkins, at St. John 
de Ulloa, in the harbour of Mexico, and returned to 
England, with a rising reputation, but without the least 
advancement in his fortune. The event of this voyage 
seems to have given * Drake a rooted enmity to the Spa- 
niards, which only terminated with his life. In those 
times the laws of nations seem to have been interpreted 
with great laxity ; and predatory voyages against the 
rich Spanish settlements w T ere frequently undertaken by 
private adventurers, rather with the connivance than the 
sanction of their sovereign. In such expeditions, where 
the love of enterprize or thirst of gain was the ruling 
motive, Drake took a very active part; yet his success, 
and die aversion to the Spanish name, which had then 
become endemial, always protected him from a strict 
inquiry into the authority under which he acted, or the 
means which he pursued to effectuate his designs. 

He made three successive voyages against the Spanish 
settlements in America; and, besides doing much mis- 
chief to individuals, he obtained a considerable share of 
booty, which, greatly to his honour, he divided with 
strict impartiality among the companions of his fortune 
and those who had risqued any capital in his under- 
takings. This conduct, so just' and praise- worthy, gain- 
ed him a high reputation, and made him the idol of his 
men. 

With the fruits cf his industry and his courage, he 
now fitted out three frigates, and sailed for Ireland, 
where he served as a volunteer, under Walter, earl of 
Essex, and performed signal feats of valour. On the 
death of this nobleman he returned to England, where 

he 



112 SIR FRANCIS BRAKE. 

he was introduced to her majesty by Sir Christopher 
Hatton, and very favourably received at court. Thus 
basking in the beams of royal favour, his views expand- 
ed to nobler atchievements than what he had yet at- 
tempted, and he projected an expedition which will ren- 
der his name immortal. 

When a man of an ardent imagination once gives up 
the reins to the pursuit of interest or ambition, nothing 
will appear too arduous that flatters his darling passion. 
Drake having in one of his former expeditions obtained 
a prospect of the Great South Sea, determined that no 
obstacles or dangers should deter him from endeavour- 
ing to spread his sails on that ocean. But indefatiga- 
ble as he was in the pursuit of his design, it was not till 
the year 1577 that he had collected a force sufficient to 
man five vessels; when, by a particular royal commis- 
sion, he appeared as admiral, or, as the phrase then was, 
general of the squadron. 

The fleet equipped for this important expedition con- 
sisted of the Pelican, of one hundred tons, the flag-ship ; 
the Elizabeth, the Marygold, the Swan, and the Chris- 
topher; all of inferior burden. These vessels were 
partly fitted out at his own risque, and partly at the ex- 
pence of others, and manned with one hundred and 
sixty-four select mariners. They were stored with all 
necessary provisions, and at the same time furnished 
with whatever could contribute to ornament or delight: 
carrying a band of music, rich furniture, and specimens 
of the most elegant productions of this country. The 
admiral's table was equipped with silver utensils, and 
even the cook-room was decorated with the same cost- 
ly metal. This apparent ostenstation, however, might 
be the effect of policy rather than vanity. Of the re- 
spect, which is always paid to the externals of opulence, 
Drake was fully sensible j and he omitted no means of 

keeping 



SIR FRANCIS DRAKE. U3 

keeping up an appearance, suitable to the station which 
he now held. 

Notwithstanding his reputation was by this time suffi- 
ciently blazoned, prudently reflecting on the difficulties 
to which his men had been exposed in former trans- 
atlantic expeditions, which might have deterred the less 
resolute, or probably to mask his design from Spain, 
he gave it out that his intended voyage was to Alexan- 
dria ; nor was the real destination known till they reach- 
ed the coast of Brazil. 

Every requisite preparation having been made, Drake 
sailed from Plymouth, on the 15th of November, 1577; 
but soon after was forced by tempestuous weather into 
Falmouth, whence he took his final departure, on the 
13th of December, with all the auspicious indications 
of a favourable voyage. 

On the 5th of April he made the coast of Brazil, no 
important occurrence intervening, and entered the rive? 
De la Plata, where he parted company with two of his 
smaller ships, but meeting them again, and transport- 
ing the men and provisions into the rest, he turned them 
adrift. 

After encountering a dreadful storm, in which the 
admiral was saved by the skill and intrepidity of his 
second in command, on the 29th of May they entered 
the port of St. Julian, not far from the Straits of Magel- 
lan, where they lay two months, in order to make prepa- 
rations for passing that dangerous and hitherto little 
known channel. 

At St. Julian, a tragedy was acted, which impartiality 
obliges us to record ; Drake having summoned his prin- 
cipal officers to attend a court-martial, opened his com- 
mission, which . gave him power of life and death; and 
with considerable eloquence, which he possessed, not- 
withstanding his imperfect education, he began to 
charge a gentleman, of the name of Doughty, who had 
long been the object of his dislike, with first plotting to 



114 SfR FHANCIS DRAKE. 

murder him, and then to ruin the enterprize. Jealousy 
of his talents and his worth is generally thought to have 
prompted this persecution. However this may be, ma- 
lice, backed by power, will seldom fail of accomplishing 
its object, particularly where the influence of the laws 
is too distant to be felt or feared. Of this tragical affair 
there are various and even contradictory accounts; but 
none, though they palliate the admiral's conduct, can 
wipe away the suspicion of deliberate cruelty. With a 
mockery of justice, while he observed some of its least 
important forms, he condemned to death a gentleman 
who had been his friend, and who followed his fortunes 
by his own particular solicitations. The sham tribunal, 
which had been instituted by Drake, and over which he 
himself presided, confirmed the sentence. The ill-fated 
Doughty obtained only the respite of a single day, to 
settle his affairs both temporal and spiritual. The ad- 
miral, it is said, received the communion with him ; and, 
with a hypocritical shew of regard, assured him of his 
prayers. 

The consciousness of his innocence seems to have sup- 
ported this unhappy victim; he broke out into no in- 
vectives against his prejudiced judges; he even preserved 
a serenity of countenance and mind ; recommended his 
friends to the candour of Drake, and submitted to deca- 
pitation with constancy and fortitude. 

The execution being over, the admiral by plausible 
harangues and excuses endeavoured to justify his con- 
duct ; but though the panic-struck crew might acquiesce 
in his decision, we are inclined to think Drake indefen- 
sible in the whole of this business, as far, at least, as 
from a review of the documents we are able, at this day, 
to judge. Cruelty ought ever to be the object of ab- 
horrence, and the more so, when it assumes the insidious 
mask of justice. 

The fleet being now reduced to three ships, Drake 

bade 



SIR FRANCIS DRAKE. 115 

bade adieu to port St. Julian, and on the 20th of August 
entered the Straits of Magellan ; which, notwithstanding 
the intricacy and difficulty of this navigation, he passed 
in sixteen days ; a shorter space of time than it has ever 
been performed in by any succeeding navigator. 

No sooner, however, had they entered the great South 
Sea, than they were overtaken by a violent storm, which 
continued, without intermission, for nearly a month, 
during which the ships were dispersed, and left Drake, 
at last, two hundred leagues out of his course, in latitude 
55° south. Here they discovered a number of small 
islands, and were fortunate enough to obtain a supply 
of refreshments, by an interchange of such toys as are 
always valuable in the estimation of uncivilized hordes. 

Departing from these shores, another storm of much 
greater violence arose, and drove them to the very ex- 
tremity of the South-American coast ; where they saw 
for the first time, the conflux of the southern and western 
oceans ; and at length they had the good fortune to na- 
vigate a calm unruffled sea, to which they had been so 
long strangers. 

Drake now directed his course to the appointed place 
of rendezvous, in case of the separation of the fleet : but 
when he arrived at the wished-for latitude, he found 
neither ships nor convenient 'harbours, and therefore 
steered directly to Macoa ; where the natives, at first, 
made a shew of friendship. But probably mistaking 
them for Spaniards, a nation which they had reason to 
detest, they soon after laid an ambush for a watering 
party, killed two of the crew, and slightly wounded the 
admiral with an arrow under the eye. 

This disaster induced them to shorten their stay; 
and now sailing along the coasts of Chili and Peru, they 
carried terror wherever they appeared, and plundered 
ships and rich towns with so little opposition, that the 
men became satiated with spoils and began to indulge 

the 



1 10 SIR FRANCIS DR'AKE. 

the wish of returning to their native land to enjoy it; 
But the admiral was fired with glory no less than ava- 
rice ; and expatiated on the honour, as well as the utility, 
of discovering a nearer passage to Europe, which he did 
not deem impracticable. 

His influence and authority prevailed ; and with a 
view of exploring a north-west passage, they proceeded 
to latitude 45° north ; but here the cold proved so intole- 
rable to persons long habituated to a warm climate, 
that he was obliged to desist from the farther prosecu- 
tion of his design ; and measuring back their course to 
California, they put into a harbour of that peninsula, 
where the natives received them in the most hospitable 
manner, and even offered to confer the sovereign power 
on the admiral. This compliment, of course, was waved 
for himself,but he transferred the proffered allegiance to 
his mistress, Elizabeth, and took possession of the coun- 
try, to whicn he gave the appellation of New Albion, in 
her name. The ceremony being ended, the simple na- 
tives demonstrated the highest respect and veneration 
for the strangers ; and^ lacerated their bodies in the se- 
verest manner* as is customary among barbarous nations 
when actuated by grief or joy. 

Though the acquisition of this territory was only va- 
luable either to the admiral or his country, as it furnish- 
ed supplies and a resting-place on the present occasion, 
Drake seems to have plumed himself much on the vo- 
luntary grant; and before his departure caused the cir- 
cumstances of the resignation to be engraven on a brass 
plate, and fixed up as a memorial of the transaction. 

No sooner were the Indians sensible that their new 
friends were about to depart, than they burst out into 
the most lively expressions of sorrow. As the ships re- 
ceded from the shore, they ascended the hills to prolong 
their view of them; and lighted up fires, as if intended 
for sacrifices. Indeed, when we consider with what pro- 
found 



SIR FRANCIS DRAKE. 3 17 

found respect, almost bordering on adoration, the Spa- 
niards were first received on this continent, it is not un- 
likely but the simple natives of California might act un- 
der similar impressions : certain it is, that the conduct of 
Drake long rendered the English popular among these 
barbarous tribes, 

It was on the *23d of July that they quitted these 
shores, and, after a general consultation, it was agreed 
on to proceed to the Moluccas, In latitude 20° north, 
they fell in with some islands, where the natives, at first, 
shewed signs of amity, and readily bartered their com- 
modities: but, emboldened by the mild behaviour of 
the English, they became insolent; when the blank dis- 
charge of a piece of ordnance checked the progress of 
Unprovoked agression. 

On the 3d of November, they had a joyful view of 
the Moluccas, and touched at Teniate, whose king ap- 
pears to have been a wise and politic prince, and kept up 
a dignified regal state, while he was not deficient in pay- 
ing proper honour and respect to his visitors. 

Here they shipped between four and five tons of 
cloves, refitted the ships, and refreshed the crews : but 
just as they were about to sail, they had the inhumanity 
to abandon a male and female negro, taken from one of 
the Spanish prizes. The poor girl, it seems, was only 
about fifteen years of age, and, either by Drake or one of 
his companions, had become in that state which entitled 
her to protection from every manly and feeling heart. 
We cannot mention an incident of this kind without re- 
probating such cruel and atrocious conduct. It is ouj? 
wish and our duty to mend, not to corrupt the heart; 
and while we record perfidy, it shall be our study to re- 
prehend it. 

In their course towards Celebes, they fell in. with a 
number of islands, whose names are not preserved ; but 
just as they flattered themselves with having escaped 

the 



Il8 SIR FRANCIS DRAKE. 

the dangers incident to such a navigation, the ship 
struck during the night, on a hidden rock ; and the mur- 
murs of the crew at such a protracted voyage, which had 
long been with difficulty repressed, now broke out into 
all the virulence of invective, and all the wildness of de- 
spair. Fletcher, the chaplain, was particularly severe 
on the admiral; but he, feeling the dreadful catastrophe 
in which they were involved, disguised his resentment 
at the rude attacks which he was obliged to endure, 
tried to conciliate the minds of his people by every leni- 
tive art that experience could devise; and in the midst 
of the most imminent danger of universal ruin, pre- 
served a courage, prudence, and presence of mind un- 
altered. 

At last, when every ray of hope was gone, and they 
expected to be swallowed up without leaving a single 
memorial of their adventures behind, the wind suddenly 
shifted, and the surges heaved the ship off the rock ; 
when they continued their course to Baratane, where 
they were hospitably received, and repaired the damage 
which they had sustained, 

Departing thence, they proceeded to Java, and took 
In afresh supply of provisions, with an intention of pro- 
secuting the voyage to Malacca; but the crew now be- 
came absolutely mutinous, and insisted on the admiral's 
directly steering for Europe. 

Obliged to yield to their menaces, the admiral direct- 
ed his course towards the Cape of Good Hope: but in 
order to wreck his resentment on some individual as a 
terror to the rest, he seized on Fletcher, who had been 
loud in censuring his conduct, when the ship was in 
danger of being lost; and, accusing him of spiriting up 
the crew to oppesition, went through the same forms of 
external justice as he had done in the case of Doughty, 
and concluded with deposing him from the priesthood 

in 



SIR FRANCIS DRAKE. 119 

in a singular form of excommunication, and afterwards 
turned him before the mast with every mark of disgrace. 

On the 15th of June, 1580, they doubled the Cape of 
Good Hope, and, without any other occurrence worthy 
of remark, reached Plymouth on the 3d of November ; 
having performed the circumnavigation of the globe in 
two years and about ten months. 

The news of Drake's arrival was soon disseminated 
over the kingdom; and, as this was an age when heroic 
deeds challenged the highest admiration and regard, the 
admiral's reputation reached the most exalted pitch, and 
the fame of his accumulated wealth heightened the re- 
spect which was paid him. 

Yet as merit and enterprize will always excite envy, 
his conduct and principles were not only canvassed by 
his countrymen, but the Spanish ambassador exerted 
himself to have him declared a pirate, notwithstanding 
the royal commission. The queen, with that policy for 
which she was distinguished, heard the arguments of his 
friends and opponents, but concealed her own senti- 
ments till a proper opportunity offered of divulging 
them. 

In this state of painful suspence, Drake remained for 
some months ; uncertain whether he should be declared 
a benefactor to his country, or its disgrace. At length, 
when matters were sufficiently ripe for an avowal, the 
queen threw off the veil at once, and went on board his 
ship at Deptford, where she was magnificently entertain- 
ed, and conferred the honour of knighthood on our navi- 
gator ; observing, that his actions did him more honour 
than his title. She also gave orders for the preservation 
of the ship which had performed such an extraordinary 
voyage, and it was long visited as an object of public 
curiosity; till becoming so much decayed that it could 
ao longer be kept together, a chair was made out of the 
7 planks, 



] 20 SIR PKA\ T CI3 DRAKE. 

planks, and presented to the university of Oxford, where 
it is now preserved in the museum. 

After this public testimony of royal approbation, envy 
and malice were obliged to hide their abashed counte- 
nances, and all ranks w r ere zealous to congratulate Sir 
Francis Drake ; who had a coat of arms assigned him, 
appropriate to his pursuits and his talents. 

With regard to the quantity of treasure amassed in 
this successful enterprize, there are various opinions; 
t\it, on an average of the best accounts, it could not be 
less than a million sterling. As to the distribution, it 
appears that all parties were satisfied ; and the manner 
of his reception gave a confirmation to the truth of the 
eld maxim, " that he who brings money, brings his wel- 
come with him." 

Having accompanied this naval hero round the globe, 
the first commander that ever accomplished such a 
voyage, Magellan having been cut off before his return, 
it will, no doubt, gratify juvenile curiosity to know his 
future destinies. 

In 1585, he was again called into action as admiral of 
an expedition against the Spanish West-Indies, in which 
his usual success attended him. Two years after, he 
was sent to Lisbon ; but receiving intelligence that the 
Spaniards were assembling a fleet at Cadiz on purpose 
to invade England, he sailed into that port, and burnt 
ten thousand tons of shipping, exclusive of all the war- 
like stores. 

New successes gave rise to new honours. Next year 
he was appointed vice-admiral under lord Howard of 
Effingham, and distinguished himself against the 
Spanish Armada, in such a manner, as deserves the un- 
qualified praise of all posterity. General history records 
the triumphs of our countrymen on this glorious occa- 
sion, and we mean not to interfere with its province. 

The very name of Drake was now a shield of defence 

to 



SIR FRANCIS DRAKE. 121 

to his sovereign, and the terror of her foes. His merits 
being duly appreciated by the queen, he was next dis- 
patched with a squadron to assist in placing Don An- 
tonio on the throne of Portugal. Here the event was not 
equal to the courage and talents employed in the expe- 
dition. Spain, indeed, was partially baffled, but Eng- 
land was little benefited. Drake was not formed so 
much to co-operate with others, as to execute his own 
bold and original designs. 

The sun of glory which had so long shone upon him 
with full lustre, was now verging to a decline. A for- 
midable expedition against the Spanish settlements was 
projected, soon after this failure, in which Drake and his 
relation and first patron, Hawkins, were appointed com- 
manders. 

After an attack on the Canaries, in which they mis- 
carried, the fleet arrived before Porto Rico ; when they 
held a council, and it was determined to make an assault 
on the ships in the harbour. The strength of the forti- 
fications rendered this attempt also abortive;' and Sir 
John Hawkins fell a martyr to the climate. The very 
same evening, while the principal officers were at supper, 
a cannon ball, entering the cabin, killed Sfr Nicholas 
Clifford, mortally wounded another gentleman, and car- 
ried away the stool on which Sir Francis Drake was 
seated. — Thus fortune once more befriended him, before 
she bade him a final adieu. 

After committing several depredations in those seas, 
to the injury and vexation of the Spaniards, they pro- 
ceeded on their grand design, which was to cross the 
isthmus of Panama ; but in this they were likewise foiled. 

Repeated disappointments, to which he had been so 

little accustomed, preyed on die mind of Drake with 

such pungent force, that he fell into a melancholy ; in 

which state, being seized with the bloody flux, he quitted 

F this 



122 SIR FRANCIS DRAKE. 

this life, at Nombre de Dios, without leaving issue, in 
January, 1596. 

In stature, this accomplished seaman was low, but 
xvell set; his chest was broad and open, his head very 
round, his eyes large and clear, his complexion fresh, 
and his whole countenance animated and engaging. In 
England his death was lamented with the sincerest de- 
monstrations of sorrow; and his character for perse- 
verance and fortitude, for all that can exalt the hero and 
intrepid commander, was so firmly fixed in the hearts of 
his countrymen, that time' can never tarnish his just 
laurels. Yet his defects as a man were very consider- 
able; and if he excelled most in his great qualities, he 
sunk beneath the mass of mankind in some essential 
characteristics of humanity. Impatient of control, 
avaricious, and despotic, he was rather formed to excite 
fear, than to attract regard. Untinctured with the libe- 
ral arts, except as far as they were connected with navi- 
gation, in which he stood unrivalled and alone, he 
evinced none of those weaknesses which are an honour 
to our mind; and he lived without seeming to enjoy 
life, except when some successful enterprize shed the 
casual gleam of satisfaction on his heart. Favoured 
by the smiles of Fortune till he vainly fancied that he 
had chained the fickle goddess, he could not endure her 
frowns; and has left a moral to posterity, " that a long 
series of uninterrupted prosperity seldom promotes the 
ultimate happiness of a being, so weak and frail as 
man," 

\ 



WILLIAM 



( 123 ) 

W I L LI A M CECIL. 

LORD BURLEIGH. 

Born 1520.— Died 1599. 

From 1 1 th Henry Fill, to Aotk Elkaheffu 

IN a private station a good man may be estimable, 
but when raised to rank and power, he becomes emi- 
nently meritorious. The more the sphere of his activity 
is enlarged, and the higher the summit from which his 
influence is felt, the greater are his glory and his use. 
All those virtues, and all that wisdom, which in privacy 
are only calculated to win the applause of his own 
heart, or the veneration of a discerning few, spread their 
delightful energies over a range worthy of their force 
and direction, promote the general welfare, and embrace 
whatever is great or good. 

These reflections were suggested by contemplating 
the life of Cecil ; a man who, during the long space of 
forty years, and amidst many eventful scenes, was a 
principal minister of state, and directed the machine of 
government with a wise and steady aim. 

William Cecil was born at Bourn, in Lincolnshire, 
the native place of his mother. His father was Richard 
Cecil, esq. of Burleigh, in the county of Northampton ; 
principal officer o£ the robes to Henry VIII. and a dis- 
tinguished favourite of that monarch. 

Young Cecil imbibed the first rudiments of learning 
at the Grammar schools of Grantham and Stamford, and 
gave early indications of those solid and shining talents 
which were to adorn the future man. His thirst for 
knowledge was excessive; and his father, willing to 
humour the bent of his mind, sent him, when still a boy, 
to St. John's college, Cambridge,, Here intense appli- 
F2 cation, 



124 WILLTAM CECIL, 

cation, miked to a pregnant genius, soon procured him 
distinction in the literary career; hut from too little at- 
tention to those springs by which the human machine is 
kept in repair, and its faculties improved, he indulged 
his sedentary disposition to such an inordinate degree. 
that he had nearly lost the use of his limbs, and certainly 
laid the foundation of that tormenting disease the gout ; 
which, at intervals, preyed on his constitution for life, 
and gradually sapped the foundation of his vital powers. 
Before he had completed his nineteenth year, he left 
Cambridge full of academic distinctions, which he had 
richly merited ; and entered of GrayVinn, London, to 
prosecute the study of the law, as his future profession. 
Here his proficiency was as rapid as in the acquisition 
of general learning ; and it is probable that he might 
have risen to the very height of juridical eminence, had 
not his better fortune called him to other pursuits, still 
more adapted to his capacity and endowments. 

The pivot on which the success or micarriages of 
men turn, is often influenced by such accidental causes 
as neither prudence can direct, nor any human foresight, 
is able to anticipate. This position, which, in itself is li- 
able to no contradiction, receives a forcible illustration 
from the incident by which Cecil rose to honour. 

Towards the close of the reign of Henry VIII. on a 
visit to his father at court, Cecil accidentally met. two 
priests, in the presence-chamber, chaplains to the fa- 
mous chief Irish O'Neale ; and byway of filling up the 
interval of waiting, he fell into conversation with them on 
theological subjects. A warm dispute ensued, which 
was carried on in Latin; and so closely were the bigots 
of superstition pressed by the youthful advocate for the 
doctrines of the reformation, that they felt themselves 
overpowered, and burst from him ina paroxysm of rage. 
The advantage which Cecil had gained was immediately 
reported to the king ; who, pleased to find a champion 

in 



LORD BURLEIGH. 125 

hi the cause which he himself had espoused, ordered 
him into his presence, and was so delighted with his good 
sense and address, that he promised him the first vacant 
place at court, compatible with his views ; and in the 
mean time he was complimented with the reversion of 
the custos brevium office. About this remarkable 
period, on which his future fortune hinged, he married 
a sister of Sir John Cheke; who left him a widower, 
with one son, in less than two years after their nuptials. 
Five years after, he espoused Miss Mildred Cooke, 
daughter of Sir Anthony Cooke, tutor to Edward VI. 
a lady of uncommon merit and accomplishments. 

Connected by marriage with two of the most distin- 
guished scholars of the age, and possessing in his wife 
not a rival, but an associate, in study, he was more ar- 
dently attached to literature than ever ; but by no means 
to the neglect of his law profession ; in which he be- 
came eminent, though his access to court probably in- 
spired him with more elevated expectations, which were 
afterwards abundantly gratified. 

On the accession of Edward VI. he was warmly re- 
commended to the lord protector, Somerset ; and suc- 
cessively rose, under this high patronage and the favour 
of his sovereign, to be master of the requests, custos 
rotolorum of Lincolnshire, and one of the principal se- 
cretaries of state. He also received the honour of 
knighthood, was sworn of the privy-council, and made 
chancellor of the garter. - 

But those honours did not flow upon him in an unin- 
terrupted stream. Though his good fortune and good 
sense always extricated him from difficulties, he ex- 
perienced some of those reverses to which all public 
men are more or less obnoxious. 

As his elevation was principally owing to his munifi- 
cent patron, Somerset., he was involved in his destinies. 
He attended him in his expedition to Scotland; and at 
F3 the 



12(3 WILLIAM CECIL, 

the battle of Musselburgh was only saved from inevita- 
ble destruction by the generous interposition of a friend, 
who pushed him out of the level of a cannon, and had 
his own arm shattered by the ball, which must other- 
wise have passed through Cecil's body. 

When the protector was obliged to give way to the 
intrigues of a powerful army, Cecil was also committed 
to the Tower, where he remained three months; but 
Edward, who seems to have entertained a warm affection 
for him, soon obliterated this disgrace by new honours. 
The destruction of his first patron, however, appearing 
inevitable, and the duke of Northumberland rapidly cir- 
cumventing his power and influence, he was thrown into 
the most distressing dilemma, how to avoid the storm, 
without incurring the deep disgrace of ingratitude. By 
some, who are no friends to his memory, it is said, that 
Cecil, with the wariness of a politician, and " the easy 
tergiversation of a courtier, strengthened his own in- 
terest by espousing the stronger cause : but this assertion 
rests on no substantial grounds. He was prudent and 
circumspect, but nothing more. His answer to Somerset, 
who was expressing his apprehension of some evil de- 
sign against him, is dignified in the extreme, though it 
may appear cool to such a benefactor, — " If you are not 
in fault," said he, " you may trust to your innocence; 
if you are, I have nothing to say but to lament you." 

Having strenuously opposed, at the council-board, 
the resolution for changing the succession of the crown 
in favour of lady Jane Grey, though as privy-coun- 
cellor he witnessed it, as the act and deed of the king, 
Mary was so much pleased with his behaviour, that soon 
after her accession she granted him a general pardon, 
and made him a tender of the office of secretary and 
counsellor, provided he would embrace the catholic 
faith. Eut Cecil, whose attachment to the reformation 
was founded on principle, and who seems to have been 

sincerely 



LORD BURLEIGH. 127 

sincerely religious, after thanking her majesty, and pro- 
fessing his zeal for her service, as far as conscience would 
allow, requested her indulgence to withdraw from the 
public councils, and to lead a life of privacy and con- 
tent. Among other expressions he made use of on this 
occasion, the following deserves to be remembered: 
u that he was taught and bound to serve God first, and 
next his sovereign; but if her service should put him 
out of God's service, he hoped her majesty would .give 
him leave to chuse an everlasting, rather than a tempo- 
rary, reward." 

This freedom, from a man of such an established cha- 
racter for probity and wisdom, did not offend. The 
queen still treated Sir William Cecil very graciously, 
and her ministers were sometimes glad to avail theni- t 
selves of his political sagacity, by asking his advice. 
With all their bigotry, they were obliged to own, that 
good sense and talents are of no particular religion ; and 
the heretic in faith was frequently made the oracle of 
their decisions. Yet Cecil prudently forbore to step 
forward, farther than he was absolutely compelled. He 
was satisfied with attending his duty in parliament, as a 
representative for the county of Lincoln,' where he avow- 
ed his sentiments with manly freedom ; and what shews 
his exalted reputation, he was never molested, either for 
his religious or political opinions. Indeed we find he 
was highly respected by cardinal Pole; to conduct whom 
to England from Brussels, he had been deputed in the 
commencement of Mary's reign. 

The virtues and talents of Cecil had been matured, 
not blighted, in the shade ; and when Elizabeth mount- 
ed the throne, he was immediately called into action with 
happier omens, and appointed secretary of state. In this 
capacity, his tried prudence and address were essentially 
necessary to heal the wounds which the reformation had 
receiyed, and to emancipate the nation, without san- 

F 4 guinary 



1 28 WILLIAM CECIL, 

guinary measures, from the chains <&f Rome. By Cecil's 
advice, a conference was holden in Westminster church 
between the most eminent divines of both persuasions ; 
and soon after, that form of worship was resolved upon, 
which has ever since been the religious establishment of 
the church of England. 

Having settled ecclesiastical affairs on a solid basis, 
his next care was to compose jarring interests, and to 
strengthen native and external relations : but we must 
leave history to do full justice to his various merits, and 
satisfy ourselves with briefly narrating the prominent 
passages of his life. In 1560, he was made master of the 
wards, and the same year was sent to negotiate a peace 
between England, Scotland, and France. After the bu- 
siness, however, had been brought to a successful termi- 
nation by the plenipotentiaries, the French court refused 
to ratify it; and the whole fell to the ground. 

Though in the full possession of his mistress's confi- 
dence, and universally respected as a man of superior 
political abilities, he had, as usual, to contend with 
jealousy and opposition; and the favourite and powerful 
Leicester, in order to strengthen his influence, putting 
himself at the head of the popish faction, still rather 
depressed than annihilated; Cecil, notwithstanding all 
his address, must inevitably have lost his station, and, as 
some pretend, his life, had lie not been firmly supported 
by Russel earl of Bedford, and Sir Nicholas Bacon. This 
last was a man of congenial mind and talents, and the 
affection between him and the minister seems to have 
been almost fraternal. 

But, though the secretary was thusrendered too power- 
ful for his public, he had almost fallen a victim to his 
private, enemies. The dark intrigues, that were formed 
agains-t him, are too numerous to recount, and too dis- 
graceful to be preserved. On one occasion, he escaped 
assassination by slipping down the back stairs, while a 

villain 



LOED BURLEIGH. 12$ 

villain waited at the foot of the great stairs to dispatch 
him; on another, the hired ruffian who was to murder 
him, after gaming admission to his chamber, and grasp- 
ing the instrument of death, in act to strike, was stung 
with remorse, and shrunk from the perpetration of the 
deed. 

Elizabeth, though she studied to balance the power 
and influence of her favourites and ministers, was not of 
a temper to be overawed by a faction ; and, beholding 
the prevalence of Leicester's party with some emotion, 
and their insidious arts against Cecil, her most sage and 
confidential adviser, gave him a signal mark of her fa- 
vour, because rare in those days, in raising him to the 
peerage, by the stile and title of Lord Burleigh ; and 
soon after she appointed him lord high treasurer. 

The object of royal favour is sure, like a focus, to con- 
centrate the rays of public regard. The most virulent 
of Burleigh's opponents were now anxious to obtain a 
claim to his friendship ; and they now courted the man 
with the humblest assiduities whom they had plotted to 
assassinate before. Such is the action and re-action of po- 
litical manoeuvre: and so little dependence is to be placed 
on the smiles or the frowns of a party. 

The interest of Burleigh had now become too strong 
to be shaken; and to his honour be it recorded, he Uni- 
formly exerted it for the service of his sovereign and the 
welfare of his country. 

When Mary, queen of Scots, became a prisoner by 
the cruel policy of her rival Elizabeth, Cecil advised and 
practised lenient measures, as best adapted to the object 
in view; but, when he found this infatuated princess 
engage in reiterated conspiracies, perhaps rather to re- 
gain her own independence than to overthrow the go- 
vernment of Elizabeth; when he was satisfied by long 
experience that the popish faction, which regarded Mary 
^s its head, would never cease to plot and to undermine 
F 5 'vXi 



130 WILLTAM CECIL, 

till she was removed from the stage of life, he yielded to 
the pressure of circumstances ; and acted, or thought 
he acted, politically right, though, no doubt, morally 
wrong. In short, he felt it his duty to give his sanction 
to her trial, condemnation, and execution ; but with a 
sense of honour which his mistress did not possess*, he 
avowed the necessity of the, measure, and did not meanly 
attempt to shelter himself behind a battery of hypocrisy, 
which Elizabeth played oiF, only to render herself still 
more criminal and contemptible. He remonstrated with 
her against the disgrace of Davidson, who was the inno- 
cent agent of Mary's execution; and throughout pre- 
served that consistency of character which might have 
been expected from his approved wisdom, and unvarying 
rectitude. 

For some time, he frustrated all the attempts of Spain, 
whose machinations against England were justly suspect- 
ed to have for their object the restoration of Mary to her 
kingdom, and the overthrow of the protestant religion ; 
and, when the decollation of that unhappy queen put an 
end to the former part of the design, vengeance for her 
death stimulated the court of Madrid to make more for- 
midable preparations than ever, while the thunder of the 
Vatican was summoned to aid the arms of infuriate bi- 
gotry. 

Lord Burleigh, however, with that foresight for which 
he was remarkable, if he could no longer prevent the 
storm from bursting, had, by the most persevering in- 
dustry, provided against its fatal effects. Availing him- 
self of a ten-years 5 peace, he had put the kingdom into 
such a posture of defence, and had so thoroughly sifted 
the conspiracies of domestic traitors, that no event could 
tome unexpected, or unprovided for. The naval force 
had been increase i to an extent hitherto unknown; men 
of tried courage and experience were promoted to the 
command; and the powers of heaven co-operating with 

9, , the 



LORD BURLEIGH. 131 

the bravery of the English, in defence of their religion, 
liberty, and homes, the redoubtable armada soon ceased 
to be an object of terror, and victory and independence 
triumphed on its ruins. 

Happy in the undiminished favour of his sovereign, 
happy in the signal defeat -of her enemies, and in the 
confidence of the nation, this period may be considered 
as the most glorious in the life of Burleigh; but, as if to 
shew that human felicity isneither permanent nor secure, 
he soon after met with a severe affliction in the loss of 
his lady, with whom he had lived in the closest bands of 
affection for the long space of forty -three years 5 and 
whose death cast a gloom over the remainder of his days. 
Lady Burleigh was not only amiable in every domestic 
relation, but in all respects was an example and orna- 
ment to her sex. With learning and endowments al- 
most more than masculine, she cultivated every femi- 
nine art that could improve youthful love into the most 
ardent and unalterable esteem. Her husband himself, 
verging into the vale ef years, felt all the poignancy of 
lacerated affection; his constitution gave way to the 
shock, and public business became almost insupportable. 

Exhausted with incessant application, and no longer 
cheered with domestic regard, he earnestly solicited per- 
mission to resign all his employments ; but the queen, 
fully sensible of the value of his services, encouraged 
him, by the most consoling attentions, to continue the 
principal manager of her affairs. She frequently visited 
him, and omitted no opportunity of soothing the languor 
of declining age, and of flattering it by every demonstra- 
tion of regard. Her pains were abundantly rewarded. 
The hoary statesman was roused to exert his accumu- 
lated wisdom for the public weal; and accordingly, 
during the last ten years of his life, we find him dis- 
playing, on various important occasions, all the zeal and 
vigour of unbroken youth. By his advice, the univ'er- 
F6 sUt 



132 WILLIAM CECIL, 

sity of JDublin was founded ; and no measure was con* 
certed throughout the various departments of govern- 
irientj without the advice and approbation of Burleigh. 
He was premier in the most extensive sense of the word ; 
and the ability, accuracy, and dispatch, which he evin- 
ced only a short time before his death, could scarcely 
be exceeded at the most active period of his life. 

" To him," says one of his biographers, " all ranks 
addressed themselves, to the very last. The bishops 
and clergy for preferment; the puritans for favourable 
treatment, and relief from ecclesiastical oppression; 
fugitives in foreign countries for pardon* which he grant- 
ed in consideration of their useful intelligence, respecting 
the designs of the nations among whom they sojourned; 
the lieutenants of counties for instructions and advice ; 
the admirals for fleets and supplies ; in a word, the in- 
terests of the state abroad, and its domestic tranquillity 
at home, were provided for, and preserved, by this ac- 
complished statesman, to his final hour." 

But no honours or distinctions can ward off the stroke 
of fate. Age advanced, with all its train of ills; and, 
though his dissolution was slow, and the gradations easy, 
after languishing two or three months, he paid the 
debt of nature, on the 4th of August, 1598. 

" Now," to use the quaint, but energetic, words of 
the same writer from whom we have made the previous 
extract, " might one see the whole world mourning ; 
the queen for an old and true servant; the council 
for a wise and grave counsellor; the court for their ho- 
nourable benefactor; his country and the common- 
wealth trembling, as it were at one blow to have their 
head stricken off; the people, widows, and wards, la- 
menting to lose their protector ; Religion, her patron ; 
Justice, her true minister; and Peace, her upholder; his 
children bewailing the loss, of such a father ; his friends, 
■of such a friend ; and his servants, of such a master : all 

men* 



LORD BURLEIGH. 133 

men rather bewailing his loss, than hoping ever to find 
such another. Yea his very enemies did now sorrow 
for his death, and wish him alive again.' ' 

In person, Burleigh was rather well-proportioned 
than tall ; he was very erect till bent by the infirmities 
of age, and extremely active and alert in all his motions. 

Viewed in every possible light, his character rises on 
our esteem. To the purest patriotism he united such a 
capacity for business, as is seldom equalled. In his pri- 
vate affairs he was frugal, rather than avaricious ; and, 
though he left a good estate, it was raised by no mean- 
ness. It descended to his two sons, who were both 
ennobled, and whose posterity still continue with an in- 
crease of honours. In public expenditure he was a rigid 
economist ; and, when we compare him, in this respect, 
with the most celebrated statesmen of modern times, we 
shall more plainly discover his inestimable worth. He 
never suffered the wealth of the nation to be drained for 
sinister ends, or diverted to wrong purposes. To uphold 
the honour and defence of the government, were the 
sole objects which he proposed in raising supplies ; and 
what was levied from the necessities or the superabun- 
dance of the people, he took care to apply for their ho- 
nour and advantage. No parasite was gratified with a 
pension; no venal supporter of his power, with a job. 
It was a maxim with him, that when the treasury, like 
the spleen, grew too great, the rest of the body languish- 
ed and pined away; he therefore wisely considered pri- 
vate opulence as the surest wealth of the state; and was 
wont to declare, " that nothing is for a prince's profit 
that it is not for his honour also." 

His character, as drawn by Camden, who saw his 
meridian and his setting hour, is worthy of a place here. 
** Having lived long enough to nature," says that able 
historian, " and l@ng enough to his own glory, but not 
long enough to his country, he resigned his soul to 

Cod, 



3 34 WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE. 

God, with so much peace and tranquillity, that the great- 
est enemy he had freely declared, he envied him nothing, 
but that his sun went down with so much lustre. 

" Certainly he was a most excellent man ; for he was 
so liberally furnished by nature, and so polished and 
adorned with learning and education, that every way 
for honesty, gravity, temperance, industry, and justice, 
he was a most accomplished person. He had an easy 
and flowing eloquence, which consisted not in a pomp 
and ostentation of words, but in a masculine plainness 
and significancy of sense. He was a master of prudence 
formed on experience, and regulated by temper and 
moderation. His loyalty was true, and would endure 
the touch, and was only exceeded by his piety, which 
indeed was eminently great. To sum up all, in a word, 
the queen was happy in so great a counsellor, and the 
state of England for ever indebted to him for his sage 
and prudent counsel. He was one who lived and died 
with equal glory ; and while others regard him with ad- 
miration, I am rather inclined to contemplate him with 
the sacred applause of silent veneration." 



WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE, 

THE PRINCE OF DRAMATIC POETS. 

Born 1564.— Died 1613. 

From 6th Elizabeth to \Oth James I* 

THOUGH the lives of poets in general are less in- 
structive than their writings, and the eccentricities 
of genius frequently furnish as much to lament as to ad- 
mire, yet there seems to be no just reason why the 
highest intellectual endowments, and the warmest poetic 
inspiration, should not be coupled with judgment and^ 

with 



WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE. I 35 

vrith prudence; andth.it the union should produce its 
natural fruits, honour, independence, and happiness. 

An illustrious proof of the most glowing energies of 
mind, connected with a general, though not undeviating, 
observance of those prudential maxims by which the 
mass of men direct their conduct, will be supplied by 
contemplating the life of Shakspeare, the immortal poet 
of nature, the glory of his country and his age. 

Stratford-on-Avon had the felicity to produce this 
prodigy of dramatic genius ; and, in consequence, will 
ever be hallowed as classic ground. His father was a 
considerable wool-stapler, and it appears that his con- 
nections, in general, ranked with the gentry of the place; 
but a large family of ten children, of whom our poet 
was the eldest, proved an incumbrance that, must have 
been very sensibly felt. In consequence the education 
of young Shakspeare, though by no means neglected, 
was confined to what the grammar-school of his native 
town could supply. What progress he made there, 
what indications he gave of his future celebrity, are 
wholly unknown ; but as genius is born with us, and can- 
not be acquired, it is probable that he early " warbled 
his wood notes wild," though unnoticed by the dim eye, 
and unheard by the dull ear, of common men. The 
fancy of Shakspeare was unquestionably pluming its in- 
fant wing, even amidst the most ordinary avocations, 
and his soul darting into distant scenes of glory and of 
fame, though the path was yet untraced by which he 
reached them. 

After a few years'attendance on scholastic instruction," 
in which it is evident that he acquired a complete ac- 
quaintance with the vernacular idiom, and was initiated 
at least in the Roman tongue ; the slender finances of 
his father, and the want of assistance at home, occasion- 
ed his early devotion to business. To accomplish him 
as a scholar seems to have been no part of his father's de- 
sign; 



136 WILLIAM SHAK3PEARE, 

sign; and it is now too late to discover, whether the son 
shewed any particular predilection to general study, or 
aversion to mercantile engagements. 

Certain it is, that while he was still very young, he 
contracted marriage with a lady of the name of Hath way, 
daughter of a substantial yeoman in the vicinity; and 
became a parent when he was not yet out of his minority* 
Having taken upon him the charge of a family, before 
it could be expected that his juvenile years could have 
taught him prudence, or given him any considerable 
experience in life, his behaviour in this important rela- 
tion, it is probable, was not marked with the requisite 
economy or attention. That he pursued his father's 
trade, as the means of a livelihood, seems to be pretty 
well ascertained; but his success and reputation can 
only be judged from the incident which, however dis- 
graceful in itself, of necessity gave a new direction to his 
talents, and thus fortunately called forth that latent spark 
of genius, which might otherwise have been smothered 
for ever. 

There is a tradition that Shakspeare was of a very 
gay and convivial dispotition ; and, if we reflect on the 
warmth of his imagination, so conspicuous in his com- 
positions, we can have little reason to doubt the truth of 
this tradition. The same impetuosity and energy of 
mind which have rendered him the delight and admira- 
tion of all posterity, unquestionably displayed them- 
selves, before he had reached the maturity of reason, in 
frolicksome excesses of conduct, and unguarded sallies 
ofwit. 

Without the society of one congenial soul who could 
cherish his native genius, or draw forth his shining qua- 
lities, is it to be wondered that he associated with the 
giddy and the thoughtless ; and, in the hilarity of his 
companions, forgot their grcssness or their depravity ? 
The fervid and aspiring mind can seldom repose in 

harmless 



WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE. 137 

harmless inactivity: if its powers be not directed by pa- 
tronage or example to some worthy object, they will pro- 
bably become conspicuous, only for the more flagrant 
dereliction of established modes, and the greater inge- 
nuity in vicious refinements. 

Shakspeare's associates were not only gay, but crimi- 
nal. Sir Thomas Lucy, of Charlecot, near Stratford, 
whose descendants still support an honourable rank in 
life, had a deer park, which was frequently robbed by 
these unruly youths. In whatever design our poet en- 
gaged, he was qualified to be a leader; and being de- 
tected in the depredations of his gang, he was prosecuted 
with some severity. Instead, however, of asking pardon 
for his offence, he heightened it by a most satirical ballad, 
a stanza of which is still preserved, though by no means 
deserving a place here ; and so provoked the knight, 
that he felt himself justified in giving a loose to the ven- 
geance of the law: and Shakspeare was in consequence 
obliged to relinquish his business and his home, and to 
take shelter in London. The same Sir Thomas Lucy, 
the cause of his original disgrace, yet the accidental 
maker of his future fortune, he afterwards immortalized, 
under the well known character of Justice Shallow. 

Cast on the wide world, with only wit for his portion, 
it was natural for him to turn his thoughts towards the 
stage, asid to court the society of the players. By a fa- 
tality, for which it is impossible to account, the same for- 
tune, that seemed to have shipwrecked all his hopes carri- 
ed him into a haven to rent, and then launched him on his 
proper element. But the steps by which he mounted to 
his sphere were slow. In those days, gentlemen com- 
monly rode to the play; and it is said that he was at 
first glad to take care of their horses, during the time cf 
representation ; and that, even in this humble station, he 
soon became eminent, and was enabled by the increase 

of 



138 WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE. 

of his business to engage a number of boys as his as- 
sistants. By this means he picked up a little money;, 
and having gradually insinuated himself into the good 
graces of some of the players, he was found to possess* 
such an admirable fund of wit and humour, that they 
readily closed with his overtures of making an attempt 
on the stage. His celebrity, however, as an actor seems 
never to have been great. As far as it can be traced 
by the diligence of his biographers, it appears that he 
had only very subordinate characters assigned him; and 
that the most considerable one he ever performed was 
the Ghost, in his own play of Hamlet. 

But, though nature did not form him to shine as a 
first-rate actor, it had moulded and endowed him for 
something far superior. Being now acquainted with 
the mechanical economy of the theatre, he was animated 
with a desire of signalizing himself as a writer; and 
that he did not mistake his genius or his forte, the con- 
curring testimony of every judge, the plaudits, not only 
of his contemporaries, but the still increasing admira- 
tion of mankind will incontestibly evince. 

Though it is impossible to trace with precision the 
first essay of this gigantic dramatist, it appears that the 
MidsjgmrnerVnight Dream was one of his earliest un- 
doubted pro duel ions, and the Twelfth Night the last; 
the whole thirty -five plays which have been ascribed to 
him, having made their appearance between the years 
1589 and 1614. The number of editions, which they 
have since run through, and the pains which our ablest 
critics and commentators have taken to restore the ge- 
nuine text, and to elucidate the most trivial obscurity of 
diction or of sentiment, prove how highly Shakspeare 
ranks as an English classic. Nor is his fame, indeed, 
confined to this island, or to those who are acquainted 
with our language ; almost every nation of Europe have 

an 



WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE. I3() 

an opportunity of reading him in their native tongue, 
and his fame as a poet reaches to the utmost confines of 
taste, civilization, and literature. 

But though the genius of our great dramatic writer 
burst out into a flame at once, it acquired new acces- 
sions of purity and resplendency, by habits of composi- 
tion, and a longer intercourse with mankind. Possess- 
ing an intuitive knowledge of the characters of men ; an 
imagination that ranged through all nature, selecting 
the sublime, the beautiful, and the agreeable ; a judg- 
ment that inclined him to adopt p]ots which had already 
been found to please ; an uncommon fluency and vi- 
gour of expression; — we cannot wonder if he gradually 
eclipsed all who had preceded him, and left his succes- 
sors in despair of ever reaching his excellencies. 

Elizabeth, who had a real taste for literature herself, 
had several of his plays adted before her ; and even first 
suggested the idea of continuing the character of Fal- 
staff^which had already been twice introduced, through 
another play, that he might represent him in love. This 
hint he adopted, and the Merry Wives of Windsor was 
the produce of his solicitude to gratify his sovereign. 

To wit, fancy, and genius unbounded, Shakspeare 
united sweetness of disposition, and amenity of manners. 
He was the agreeable companion, and the valuable 
friend ; and his demeanour being improved by an ac- 
quaintance with the finest models of his time, he was 
courted by the great, and honoured by the good. 

Besides the royal patronage, the earl of Southampton 
is known to have treated him with the most flattering 
distinction ; and from this Maecenas he received some 
solid marks of favour, which give us a very high idea 
of the estimation in which the poet was holden, and the 
munificence of his patron. A gift of -one thousand 
pounds, to enable him to complete a desirable purchase, 
is a proof of liberality, to which few similar instances 

are 



140 WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE. 

are now exhibited by those who pretend to honour* 
genius. 

But, after all, it is to that part of Shakspeare's cha- 
racter in which his prudence and his love of indepen- 
dence is displayed, that we wish more particularly to 
call the attention of our young readers. Having, by 
his writings, his interest in the theatre, and his own good 
conduct, acquired a decent competence, he had the good 
sense to determine to enjoy it; and leaving at once the 
stage on which he had raised his fortune, and the busy 
stage of the world, he retired to his native Stratford, 
and lived in a handsome house which he had purchased, 
called New Place ; endeared to his intimate friends, and 
respected by the gentlemen in the environs. 

Whatever imprudencies might be charged on his ju- 
venile years, his mature and declining age atoned for 
them all. The commencement of his acquaintance with 
Ben Jonson shews his taste and his candour in a high 
degree ; and exemplifies, by a single trait, the prominent 
features of his heart. That learned and able dramatic 
writer had presented a play to the managers, who were 
on the point of returning it with an unfavourable answer, 
when Shakspeare luckily casting his eye upon it, had the 
penetration to discover its merit; and was generous 
enough to introduce Jonson and his writings to public 
notice and approbation. 

After he had secluded himself from the busy scene, he 
wisely conformed to his Situation ; and, instead of dis- 
gusting inferior minds by the claims of superiority, sunk 
to the level of common men. Among his particular 
acquaintances was an old gentleman named Combe j 
extremely opulent, avaricious, and usurious. In a free 
conversation, he desired our poet to write his epitaph, 
that he might know what his posthumous character 
would be. Shakspeare drew a ludicrous but a severe 
picture, in four lines, whose poignancy was never for- 
given | 



WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE. 141 

given ; and indeed a man less acquainted with life, than 
he who had traced all its mazes, might have known 
u that 'tis the truth which gives offence." 

Finding his health on the decline, Shakspeare made 
his will in the beginning of 1616; and having provided 
for his family and left some memorials of his regard to 
his former associates of the stage, he departed this life 
in April of the same year, and was interred on the north 
side of the chancel in the church of Stratford, where a 
mural monument, with his bust, was erected to his me- 
mory; on which the following distich is inscribed: 

Judicio Pylium, genio Socratum, arte Maroaem, 
Terra tegit, populus moeret, Olympus habet. 

On the slab which covers his remains are these lines> 
generally believed to be written by himself; 

Good friend, for Jesus* sake forbear 
To dig the dust inclosed here. 
BlessM be the man that spares these stones j 
And curst be he that moyes my bones I 

A studious life seldom presents many memorable in* 
cidents; and of the private habits of Shakspeare in par- 
ticular, very little is handed down to posterity. He 
met, indeed, with a few vicissitudes, a single accident 
forced him to become the architect of his own fortune ; 
by gradual efforts he rose to eminence of fame, and 
competency of fortune; and no sooner had he acquired 
these, than he wisely retired to the tranquil enjoyment 
of what his genius and his industry had earned. Hence 
few occurrences swell the annals of his peaceful days. 

Shakspeare left two daughters ; but his family became 
extinct in the third generation. Some collaterals still, 
«ot did lately, remain at Stratford ; and, as may be justly 
imagined, they are not a little proud of such an illus- 
trious 



142 WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE. 

trious kinsman. His mulberry-tree and chair were long 
the objects of veneration, and visited by his admirers as 
the most precious relicts ; but even these have now dis- 
appeared ; and his tomb alone remains, where devotees 
can pay the homage of their tear,, 

As a dramatic writer, in which point of view he con- 
centrates universal regard, his character has been often 
drawn; but by none with such vigour and justness of 
appreciation as by Dr. Johnson, whose sentiments we 
adopt without limitation or reserve. They bear the 
stamp of truth, and carry conviction to the heart. 
u Shakspeare," says he, " is above all writers, at least 
above all modern writers, the poet of nature ; the poet 
that holds up to his readers a faithful mirror of manners 
and of life. His characters are not modified by the 
customs of particular places, unpractised by the rest of 
the world ; by the peculiarities of studies or professions, 
which can operate but upon small numbers ; or by the 
accident of transient fashions, or temporary opinions ; 
they are the genuine progeny of common humanity, 
such as the world will always supply, and observation 
will always find. His persons act and speak by the in- 
fluence of those general passions and principles by which 
all minds are agitated, and the whole system of life is 
continued in motion. In the writings of other poets, 
a character is too often an individual ; in those of Shak- 
speare, it is commonly a species. 

u It is from this wide extension of design that so. 
much instruction is derived. It is this which fills the 
plays of Shakspeare with practical axioms and domestic 
wisdom. It was said of Euripides, that every verse was 
a precept; and it may be said of Shakspeare, that from 
his works may be collected a system of civil and econo- 
mical prudence. Yet his real power is not shown in the 
splendour of particular passages, but by the progress of 
his fable, and the tenor of his dialogue; and he that 

tries 



WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE. ]43 

tries to recommend him by select quotations, will suc- 
ceed like the pedant in Hierocles, who, when he offered 
his house to sale, carried a brick in his pocket as a speci- 
men. Upon every other stage the universal agent is 
love, by whose power all good and evil is distributed, 
and every action quickened or retarded, but love is 
only one of many passions ; and as it has no great in- 
fluence upon the sum of life, it has little operation in the 
dramas of a poet who caught his ideas from the living 
world, and exhibited only what he saw before him. He 
knew that any other passion, as it was regular or exor- 
bitant, was sl cause of happiness or calamity. 

" Characters thus ample and general were not easily 
discriminated and preserved ; yet, perhaps, no poet ever 
kept his personages more distinct from each other. 

" Other dramatists can only gain attention by hyper- 
bolical or aggravated characters, by fabulous and unex- 
ampled excellence or depravity; as the writers of bar- 
barous romance invigorated the reader by a giant and 
a dwarf; and he that should form his expectations of 
human affairs from the play, or from the tales, would 
be equally deceived. Shakspeare has no heroes, his 
scenes are occupied only by men, who act and speak 
as the reader thinks that he should himself have spoken 
or acted on the same occasion : even where the agency 
is super-natural, the dialogue is level with life. Other 
writers disguise the most natural passions, and most fre- 
quent incidents; so that he who contemplates them in 
the book, will not know them in the world: Shakspeare 
approximates the remote, and familiarizes the wonder- 
ful ; the event which he represents will not happen, but 
if it were possible, its effects would probably be such as 
he has assigned: and it may be said, that he has not 
only shown human nature as it acts in real exigencies, 
but as it would be found in trials to which it cannot be 
^exposed. 

" This 



144 SIR WALTER RALEIGH. 

u This, therefore, is the praise of Shakspeare, that his 
drama is the mirror of life; that he who has mazed his 
imagination, in following the phantoms which other 
writers raise up before him, may here be cured of his 
delirious ecstasies, by reading human sentiments in hu- 
man language ; by scenes from which a hermit may 
estimate the transactions of the world, and a confessor 
predict the progress of the passions." 



SIR WALTER RALEIGH. 

Born 1552.— Beheaded 1618. 
From bth Edxvard VI. to \bth Ja?ncs L 
-Who can speak 



The numerous worthies of the maiden-reign? 

In Raleigh mark their every glory mixM; 

Raleigh ! the scourge of Spain ! whose breast with all 

The sage, the patriot, and the hero, burnMj 

Nor sunk his vigour when a coward-reign 

The warrior fettered, and at last resigned, 

To glut the vengeance of a vanquislfd foe. 

Then active still, and unrestrained his mind, 

ExplorM the vast extent of ages past, 

And with his prison hours enrichM the world j 

Yet found no times, in all the long research, 

So glorious or so base as those he prov'd, 

In which he conquerM and in which he bled. 

Thomson. 

THIS immortal ornament of his country, whose 
brief character is so well delineated by the poet, 
was descended from an ancient and respectable family 
in Devon, and born at Budley in the same county. 
/ 7 ' Though 



SIR WALTER RALEIGH. 145 

Though he occupies such~an ample and honourable 
space in the annals of this nation, yet no incidents of his 
early days have been transmitted to an admiring poste- 
rity. It may, however,, evince to us the maturity of his 
parts, that he had acquired a sufficient stock of gram*, 
matical learning, by the time of completing his four- 
teenth year, for he was removed to the university of 
Oxford, and entered a gentleman commoner of Oriel- 
college. In this situation it was not long before he 
distinguished himself by the strength and vivacity of his 
genius, and his uncommon progress in academical 
learning. But, though qualified to shine in the schools, 
the bent of his disposition led him to more active pur- 
suits; and, when he was no more than seventeen years 
old, he enlisted in a corps of gentlemen volunteers, des- 
tined to recruit the Huguonot army in France, and 
commanded by the gallant Coligny. Here he not only 
initiated himself in the art of war, but acquired a know- 
ledge of the fashionable modern languages ; and, after 
six years spent on the continent, returned to London, 
with every accomplishment that adorns the gentleman. 
He now took up his residence in the Middle Temple, 
but the Muses here engrossed all his attention. Still, 
however, intent on military glory, he embraced the first 
opportunity which presented itself of resuming the pro- 
fession of^irms; and, after the lapse of three years, 
joined the prince of Orange, then warring against the 
Spaniards. The following year, he attended his half, 
brother, Sir Humphrey Gilbert, on an unsuccessful ex- 
pedition to the northern parts of America; and in 1580 
we find hira serving as a captain against the rebellious 
Irish, where he quickly made himself conspicuous by 
his intrepid spirit, his generous humanity, a^nd presence 
of mind in the greatest dangers. In a word, so eminent 
•were his abilities and services, that he received a grant 

G from 



146 SIR WALTER RALEIGH. 

from the crown of a large estate in that kingdom : but 
he was prevented from rising in his profession by an un- 
happy misunderstanding between him and the lord de- 
puty, which was at last heard and adjusted before the 
privy council. On this occasion, Raleigh defended his 
cause with such eloquence and address, that what was 
likely to ruin his interest proved the very means of re- 
cctamending him to the notice of the court. A contest 
with a superior, however just, seldom fails to bring ob- 
loquy and disgrace; but fortune, in the case of Raleigh 
determined otherwise. He only wanted a proper theatre 
on which to display his abilities : he gained that of a 
court, and succeeded. 

But the smiles of ministers were not sufficient to sa- 
tisfy his soaring ambition. He aspired to the favour 
of his sovereign; and it was not long before fortune 
once more essentially befriended him in this respect. 
The queen, taking the air, happened to come to a miry 
place, and was hesitating whether she should preceed 
or no ; when Raleigh, who, it is probable, was on the 
watch to win a smile of royal regard, immediately di- 
vested himself of a handsome plush cloak, and spread 
It on the ground. The queen, gently treading on it, was 
conducted over safe and clean. So much gallantry from 
a man whose address, person, and wit, were alike cal- 
culated to strike, could scarcely fail to make an impres- 
sion on Elizabeth. With a vanity natural to women, 
she construed every compliment into a proof of partial 
affection, and, by converting her courtiers into lovers', 
she was served with a zeal and fidelity which neither 
rank, nor power, nor munificence, could singly, or even 
collectively, have otherwise won. 

Soon after this adventure, Raleigh appeared at court ; 
and meeting with a reception which seemed to flatter 
his h©pes, as a farther exposition of his mind, he wrote 

with 
5 



STR WALTER RALEIGH. 147 

with a diamond, on a pane of glass, the following 
line: 

" Fain would I climb, yet faajr I to fall ; 

which Elizabeth elegantly converted into a couplet, by 
adding, 

u If thy heart fail thee, climb not at all 

Raleigh was too quick of apprehension not to inter* 
pret this poetic challenge. He saw it was his own fault 
i^he did not rise; and after obtaining a proper intro- 
duction, his own fnerit was sufficient to accomplish the 
rest. 

But no court favour, no employment where he could 
have rivals in his fame, was adapted to the aspiring 
genius of Raleigh. Even the bounds of Europe were 
too limited for his capacious mind. He longed to sig- 
nalize himself by discoveries in the new world, the 
common field where daring spirits* at that time, dis- 
played their talents, or sought their fortune. Accord- 
ingly he made several voyages to the continent of Ame- 
rica, where he settled a colony named- Virginia, in ho- 
nour of his virgin mistress. The chief produce of this 
province being tobacco, Raleigh was studious to intro- 
duced as a luxury, while Elizabeth patronized its use 
as an article of commerce. To him too we are indebted 
for the most valuable root Which Providence, in its 
bounty, has bestowed on man : the potatoe was one fruit 
of his discoveries in this track, though it does not ap- 
pear that he was at first acquainted with its real value. 
It is generally believed, that being obliged to touch on 
the coast of Ireland, in one of his homeward-bound 
voyages, he left some of the roots there; which being 
cultivated with success, by degrees spread over the three 
kingdoms, and now constitute a principal relief to the 
poor, and a most agreeable luxury to the rich* 
But, though Raleigh was at great pains to colonize 
G 2 Virginia, 



148 SIR WALTER RALEIGH. 

Virginia, the settlement was afterwards abandoned ; and 
the sagacity of Raleigh discovered the cause. Virginia 
afforded no means of immediate profit or emolument 
to government, and therefore was finally neglected. 
This set him on a scheme ©f settling a new colony in 
another part of America, which might at once be pro- 
ductive of advantage, and enable his countrymen to 
transfer the richest products of America to England, 
if they possessed sufficient courage to embark in the de- 
sign. 

To accomplish this magnificent purpose, he made die 
most minute inquiries into the state of Guiana. From 
books and papers he drew all the assistance that could ; 
possibly be procured of this nature ; and from personal 
information he derived much more. But for the know- 
ledge that he acquired, he was still more indebted to the 
vast stores of his own mind, to a profound judgment and 
a penetrating observation. 

Raleigh, however, was not one of those superficial 
adventurers who strike out a plan with crude and eager 
zeal, and then immediately pursue it with blind impe- 
tuosity. He knew the necessity of caution in an affair 
of such importance, and therefore dispatched an officer 
of approved skill and fidelity, to reconnoitre the coast ; 
that, after his information was as complete as the nature 
of things would allow, he might, on this solid basis, 
erect the superstructure of his design. 

But, though Raleigh seemed most in his element 
when in the prosecution of some distant object, he was 
not an inattentive observer of domestic concerns; and a 
man of his talents could not be useless, or unemployed 
on any stage. 

He exerted himself in Parliament, as knight of the 
shire for his native county ; he had a distinguished share 
in almost every expedition or feat of arms, during the 
greatest part of the reign of Elizabeth ; and, while the 

colonization 



SIR WALTER RALEIGH, )4() 

colonization of Virginia was the principal object of his 
attention, he received the honour of knighthood from 
his wise and politic mistress, who was as frugal of the 
honours which she bestowed, as careful of her treasury. 

His influence with the queen at last rose to such a 
pitch, as to excite the jealousy of less favoured courtiers; 
and his enemies employed every artifice to undermine 
him. To the clergy he had givea offence by some free 
notions in religion ; yet, if we may judge from his works, 
no man had juster ideas, and a more awful sense of the 
divine nature and perfections, or a firmer belief in reve- 
lation. So dangerous is it, however, to oppose popular 
prejudices, that, while he strove to exalt religion by at- 
tacking the old school of divinity, he was accused ci 
infidelity itself. 

The queen disregarded the petty malice of Raleigh's 
adversaries, and saw through their insidious design to 
lessen him in her esteem : but, what his most bitter ene- 
mies could not effect, his own imprudence had well 
nigh accomplished. 

Among the maids of honour to the queen, was a 
daughter of Sir Nicholas Throgmorton. With this lady 
Sir Walter Raleigh carried on an intrigue ; which be- 
ing discovered by its natural consequences, she was dis- 
missed from her attendance at court, and he w r as put 
under confinement for several months. In the eyes o£ 
Elizabeth, a secret amour, particularly with a lady of 
the court, was considered as highly criminal; but Ra- 
leigh made the most honourable regaration by marriage, 
and they long lived patterns of conjugal fidelity and af- 
fection. 

Under this temporary alienation of the queen's regard, 
our intrepid adventurer was rendered more desirous of 
carrying his long-meditated expedition to Guiana into 
etFect; in hopes that his success might reinstate him in 
the favour of his sovereign. Accordingly he set sail 
G 3 from 



150 v SIR WALTER RALEIGH. 

from Plymouth, with a small squadron, on the 6th of 
February, 1595, and after a propitious voyage arrived 
at the isle of Trinidad, where he took the city of St. 
Joseph, together with the Spanish governor. He then 
sailed four hundred miles up the Oroonoko in little 
barks ; opened a friendly intercourse with the natives $ 
and obtained certain indications of gold-mines; but was 
not furnished with instruments for working them. 

Having extensively surveyed the banks of this beauti- 
ful river, he at last came to cataracts which impeded his 
further progress ; and the rains falling in such torrents, 
that they frequently penetrated ten times a day to the 
skin, it was judged expedient to make for the ships ; 
which was effected with the most persevering labour, 
in spite of multiplied difficulties. 

The ore, the fossils, and the plates of gold which Sir 
Walter Raleigh brought to England, considerably 
roused the attention of the nation, and the general voice 
would have favoured a prosecution of his discoveries ; 
but his enemies, stung with jealousy at what he had 
achieved, threw out the most invidious insinuations 
against his patriotism and veracity; and sacrificed th« 
honour and the interest of the country to their own pri- 
vate animosity and revenge. 

The queen too, harassed by the conspiracy, or rather 
frenzy, of Essex, had little leisure, and less inclination, to 
engage in distant schemes of glory: but she became 
perfectly reconciled to Sir Walter; and during the re- 
mainder of her reign, he basked in the sunshine of de- 
served favour; but all his prospeds y^ere eclipsed by her 
death. 

On the accession of James I. he experienced indeed a 
short gleam of royal favour; but the characters of the 
prince and the subject were so opposite, that it was im- 
possible for their good understanding to be permanent. 
Swayed by maxims of honour, Raleigh submitted not 

without 



SIR WALTER RALEIGH* 151 

without declared aversion to the ascendency which 
strangers acquired, in prejudice to his native country; 
animated with the love of military glory, he could not 
help despising the pusillanimous conduct of James. He 
was likewise imprudently drawn in to join a sinking 
party, which his good sense might have told hirn could 
only operate his own ruin, without any probable ad- 
vantage to his country; and, in consequence, he was 
stripped of all the offlces which he so honourably held 
under Elizabeth; and was soon after committed to the 
Tower, on an alledged charge of treason, in plotting 
against the king, and carrying on a secret correspon- 
dence with Spain; to which nation he had in fact ever 
shewn the most inveterate hostility. 

The crown-lawyers, to whom his inflexible integrity 
made him obnoxious, carried on the prosecution- with 
the most rancorous virulence. The great Sir Edward 
Coke forgot the dignity of a judge in his invectives 
against him ; and " traitor, monster, viper, and spider 
of -hell," were some of the opprobrious titles which this 
rude calumniator bestowed on Raleigh. In a word, the 
court was determined to convict him, not only without 
evidence, but against it; and, though it seemed to hesi- 
tate at legalized murder, it kept him a close prisoner for 
the long period of twelve years. 

Such ill-requited services, and such severity, would 
have broken the mind of any other person save Raleigh; 
but he, superior to the malice of his foes, and panting 
with a generous ardour for immortal fame, employed 
his pen to illuminate a thankless age ; and, among 
other works, produced in the Tower his well known and 
much admired History of the World. 

at means he took to mitigate the prejudices of 

James cannot now be ascertained with precision. It is 

very probable that the application of a bribe to some of 

the needy coin tiers had considerable influence upon 

G 4 them ; 



152 SIR WALTER RALEIGH. 

them ; and the sovereign himself, by his criminal pro- 
fusion, being in want of fresh supplies, no doubt listen- 
ed with avidity to a man who fancied that gold mines 
were within his reach, whenever he was permitted to 
proceed in quest of them. 

In 1616 he procured his liberation, and soon after're- 
ceived a royal commission to go and explore the mines 
cf Guiana. It was not, however, till July next year that 
he was ready to sail ; in consequence of which delay 
his designs were betrayed to the Spaniards, and all his 
plans rendered abortive. 

In his course he touched at the Canaries, with an in- 
tention of landing; but the Spaniards being prepared, 
opposed him with such vigour, that he was glad to 
stipulate for necessary supplies on the best terms by 
which they could be procured. 

He now proceeded to his destination; and, reaching 
Guiana, was received by the Indians with the most flat- 
tering homage and attention. So prepossessing were 
his manners, that wherever he went his favourable re- 
ception was insured; and wherever he had once visited, 
he was sure to be welcomed again. The kindness and 
respect which he experienced from these friendly peo- 
ple, he very modestly mentioned in his dispatches sent 
home; for in Sir Walter Raleigh modesty was blended" 
with the choicest gifts cf nature, with superior capacity, 
heroic resolution, and genuine magnanimity. 

Falling into an indisposition, he was obliged to intrust 
the command of an expedition up the Oronooko in 
quest of a gold mine, of which he had received notice 
in his former voyage, to Kemys, one of his captains, 
and to his eldest son, Captain Walter Raleigh. Devi- 
ating from the prudent instructions which had been 
given them, they fell into an ambuscade; and after 
doing considerable damage to the Spaniards at St. 
Thome, they were obliged to retire, without reaching 
* the 



SIR WALTER RALEIGH. 153 

the mine which had been the grand object of their en- 
terprize. 

. Young Raleigh fell in this affair, while he was per- 
forming prodigies of valour, and proving himself the 
legitimate son of such a father. On receiving the me- 
lancholy news of his beloved son, Sir Walter felt all the 
bitterness of grief. The most terider sensibility is not 
incompatible with the highest degrees of courage. But 
Sir Walter had not only a domestic and irretrievable 
calamity to lament: he was frustrated in all his hopes 
from this expedition ; and he reproached Kemys in the 
anguish of his heart, for neglecting his instructions to 
procure some of the gold ore ; which would have pre- 
served his character, and allayed popular discontent. 
Kemys, unable to brook disappointment and blame, sa- 
crificed himself, as an expiation for his misconduct. He 
wanted true magnanimity ; for to part with life rashly 
is real cowardice; but to bear its accumulated ills with- 
out despondency, is an effect of the most exalted xou- 
rage. 

A council of officers being summoned, the prevailing 
wish was an instant return to England. Raleigh found 
it in vain to oppose the general sentiment; and, indeed* 
the Spaniards seemed to be now so well on their guard, 
that success in the attempt was more than problematical. 
He therefore yielded to the current of opinion, and 
about the end of July, 1618, landed at Plymouth, worn. 
out with illness and chagrin. 

To give the last touch to his calamities, he was in- 
formed here that the king had published a proclamation 
requiring him and his officers to appear before the privy 
council, to answer for their conduct at St. Thome, 
This was done at the instigation of Gondamar, the Spa- 
nish ambassador, who thirsted for the blood of Raleigh* 
in revenge for the long series of injuries which he had 
done the Spanish nation; and James had neither the- 
G 5 honour 



154 SIR WALTER RALEIGH. 

honour nor the courage to protect a man who was one 
of the most distinguished ornaments of his age, and will 
be the admiration of all posterity. He was speedily ar- 
rested, and committed prisoner to his own house in 
London ; but, foreseeing the event, he endeavoured to 
escape. He had only reached Greenwich, however, be- 
fore he was seized, and being committed to the Tower, 
in mockery of all justice, and to the eternal infamy of 
this reign, on the 28th of October following, was 
brought into the Court of King's bench ; when the re- 
cord of bis former sentence being read, after the lapse of 
so many years, he was sentenced on that to die ; and the 
very next morning suffered decollation, in Old- Palace- 
yard, in the sixty-ninth year of his age. 

On the scaffold he behaved like a hero and a chris- 
tian. He vindicated his conduct in a most pathetic and 
eloquent speech; and then, feeling the edge of the fatal 
instrument of death, observed with a smile, " It is a 
sharp medicine, but a sure remedy for all woes." Being 
ksked which way he would lay himself on the block, he 
replied, " So the heart be right, it is no matter which 
way the head lies. ,, After this, composing himself as 
if he had been going to rest, his head was severed from 
his body at two blows. The former was long preserved 
by his widow as a precious relic of affection ; the latter 
was interred in the chancel of St. Margaret's church, 
Westminster. 

The cruelty and flagrant injustice of this execution 
astonished all Europe, and its history is still read with 
execration by Englishmen. 

In person Sir Walter Raleigh was tall, well shaped, 
and proportionably strong. His hair was of a dark co- ' 
lour and full ; and his features and the contour ©f his 
face- such as were formed so inspire respect. He- was 
magnificent in his dress ; but an attention to :dress was ■ 
the -least part of his ambition. In his character he united 

almost 



FRANCIS BACON. 155 

almost every great quality that can deserve the venera-. 
tion of mankind. As a soldier, a statesman, and a scho- 
lar, he might have rivalled the most eminent personages 
of ancient or modern times. He was not only learned 
himself, but the patron of learning. To him we are in- 
debted for Spencer, the poet of fancy ; whom he intro- 
duced from Ireland, and whose fame will be co-eternal 
with his own. In short, in whatever situation Raleigh 
appeared, his character was luminous and great; and 
he seemed to live for his country rather than himself. 

His widow and children met with the basest ingrati- 
tude and ill usage from the same pusillanimous court 
which had taken oif the husband and the father; and. 
thus aggravated and perpetuated that infamy, which 
time might have softened, or its compunction have ef- 
faced. 

Who can read the life of Sir Walter Raleigh without 
being impressed with the truth of this maxim ; " that 
ambition^ however honourably displayed, is seldom the 
path that conducts to private felicity." 



FRANCIS BACON, 

TISCOUN-T ST. ALBANS, BARON OF VERULAM, AND LORD 
HIGH CHANCELLOR OF ENGLAND. 

Born 1561— Died 1626, 
From 3d. Elizabeth to 2d Charles I. 

OF this immortal honour to literature and his eoun« 
try, it is impossible to speak without enthusiasm, 
when we contemplate his genius ; or without pity, when 
we view his weaknesses. Pope characterises him in one 
line, as 

The wisest, brightest, meanest of mankind s 

G6 . and 



J 56 



FRANCIS BACON, 



and the late Horace Walpole, with as much elegance as 
propriety, calls him the " Prophet of those arts," which 
Newton was afterwards to reveal. 

Francis Bacon was the son of Sir Nicholas Bacon r 
lord-keeper in the reign of Elizabeth, and was born at 
York-house, in the Strand, January 22, 1561. His mo- 
ther was Anne, daughter of Sir Anthony Cooke ; a lady 
as illustrious for her classical attainments as for her do- 
mestic virtues. 

So extraordinary were the presages of his future ge- 
nius at a very early age, that queen Elizabeth distin- 
guished him while still a child, and with peculiar plea- 
sure heard *his shrewd remarks, and drew out his perti- 
nent replies. Such was the strength of kis intellect, and 
the prematurity of his understanding, that she used to 
call him in pleasantry, " her young lord-keeper." It is 
recorded of him when a boy, that Elizabeth having one 
day asked his age, he instantly and handsomely replied, 
w that he was just two years younger than her majesty's 
happy reign." 

So rapid were his attainments in classical learning, 
that he was judged qualified for removal to the univer- 
sity in the twelfth year of his age; and accordingly he 
was entered of Trinity college, Cambridge ; where he 
niade such incredible progress in his studies, that before 
the age of sixteen he had run through the whole circle 
of the liberal arts as then taught ; and even at this early 
period he began to perceive those futilities and imper- 
fections in the reigning philosophy, which, for the ser- t 
vice of learning andof mankind, he afterwards so effec- 
tually exposed and exploded. 

Leaving the university with the highest reputation* 
he was sent on his travels, and warmly recommended 
to the English ambassador in France; wh©se esteem 
and confidence he so entirely gained, that he was entrust- 
ed 



LORD YERULAM. 157 

cd with a secret commission to her Majesty; which. 
having discharged with prudence and dispatch, he re- 
sumed his observations on the continent. 

While engaged in every liberal pursuit, and combin- 
ing a knowledge of the world with a 'knowledge of 
books and languages, his father was suddenly called 
from the mortal stage, without being able to make that 
provision for his son which he wished and intended. 
In consequence, the young philosopher was obliged to 
discontinue his travels, but not before he had acquired 
a deep and almost intuitive insight into the manners and 
customs of other countries, and the characters and 
views of their princes and ministers ; which he exempli- 
fied in a paper on the general state of Europe, publish- 
ed before he had attained his nineteenth year. 

Without a patrimony on w T hich to depend, in order to 
procure a genteel subsistence, he entered himself of 
Gray's-inn. The whole arcana of jurisprudence were 
speedily descried by this penetrating genius ; and, after 
receiving some honourable testimonies of approbation 
from the society to which he belonged, in being appoint- 
ed their reader, at the age of twenty-eight he was nomi- 
nated counsel-extraordinary to the queen. 

Robert earl of Essex, a man who loved and was ca- 
pable of appreciating merit, had formed a close intimacy 
with Bacon, soon after his return from his travels; and 
made use of all his influence, without effect, to obtain 
for him some professional appointment which would set 
him above dependence. To console his friend under 
his disappointment, which was probably owing to his 
avowed patronage, as it rendered Bacon an object of 
suspicion to the other courtiers, he generously presented 
him w T ith Twickenham park and gardens ; whither he 
frequently retired to indulge in learned ease, and in 
some of the most sublime speculations that could en- 
gage the mind of man. 

Our 



158 FRANCIS BACON, 

Our early conne&ions frequently influence our latest 
hour ; and the utmost caution should be used in forming 
them. If the patron to whom we attach ourselves pos- 
sess not the power, or want the inclination, to push our 
interest, what can be expe&ed but indifference about 
our fortune from others ? It is well if it be no worse ; 
for frequently one fa&ion tries to depress the humbl&st 
adherent of another. Can we otherwise account for the 
little preferment which a man of Bacon's acknowledged 
abilities received, during the whole reign of Elizabeth* 
notwithstanding his near relationship to Burleigh, and 
the early prepossession of her majesty in his favour ? 
Whenever friendship solicited a place for him, enmity 
x>r opposition interposed ; and while they confessed his 
abstradt abilities, they represented him as a speculative 
man, who was isiore likely to perplex than to forward 
.public business. Even Burleigh with great difficulty 
procured for him in reversion the office of register to. 
the star-chamber, reckoned worth 1000/. per annum ; 
but this did not lapse till near twenty years afterwards. 

Depressed by his narrow circumstances, enfeebled by 
too sedulous application to study, conscious of merit 
which he found ineffe&ual to his elevation, both his 
health and his spirits forsook him ; and at one time he 
seems to have formed the resolution of bidding adieu to 
his country for ever. _ His friends, however, diverted 
him from this purpose ; and, for a while ceasing to feel 
the throb of ambition, he wrapped himself up in philo- 
sophical apathy, and planned those various works which 
throw unsullied rays of glory round his head. 

But the ambition of shining in public life, though 
dormant, was not extindt : and it gives us pain to deli- 
neate its renewed emotions. Gratitude to a benefa&or, 
though unfortunate, is a quality that reflects the highest 
honour on human nature. Bacon, though pure and cor- 
rect in his study, seems to have entertained very lax 

principles 



LORD V ERULAM. 1 5$ 

principles of political attachment. When Essex fell, 
rather than resign the empty title of counsel-extraordi- 
nary to the queen, he officially appeared, and to plead 
against him ; and, as if this was not enough to shew his 
tergiversation and ingratitude, he blackened the memory 
of his early patron by the most illiberal and unjust ac- 
cusations. Such baseness we will not attempt to exte- 
nuate ; and we are happy to record, as a warning to 
those who might be tempted to copy so infamous a pre- 
cedent, that it wholly failed of the effect which he in- 
tended. The queen still retained too much affedtion for 
Essex to countenance his reviler and betrayer ; and the 
people, too generous to see a man who had once been 
their darling attacked when he was incapable of defend- 
ing himself, particularly by a friend, were exasperated 
to madness against Bacon, and even menaced his life. 
During the remainder of Elizabeth's reign, he was justly 
treated with neglect by all parties ; perhaps with silent 
contempt for his prostituted services. 

Another prospect opened on the accession of James 5 
and Bacon having had the address to ingratiate himself 
with the new favourites, was soon distinguished by .his 
majesty, from whom* he received the honour of knight- 
hood, as the first pledge of royal regard. To be over- 
looked by Elizabeth was, in general, a sufficient recom- 
mendation to James. He retained, indeed, some of her 
principal ministers, out of policy, or necessity ; but his 
favourites were all of his own making or finding. 

Sir Francis Bacon being new firmly established at 
court, had only to recover his popularity to accomplish 
his adverse merit. He whom a king distinguishes, is 
sure to r^e honoured by one party at least. It had, for 
some time, been a matter of complaint, that the royal 
purveyors oppressed the people ; and in the first session 
of parliament after James mounted the throne, a solemn 
representation of t^his grievance was agreed on in the 

house 



3 60 FRANCIS BACON, 

house of commons, and Sir Francis Bacon was delegated 
to lay it before the king. His success in this mission 
was so great, that he recovered the entire good-will of 
the public, without lessening his interest with the sove- 
reign. He was thanked by die house of commons ; and 
the full tide of courtly favour and popular applause 
seemed now united in wafting him to the haven of his 
wishes. 

He was soon after appointed solicitor-general, an of- 
fice which had long been the objedt of his ambition; and 
from that period, becoming a professed courtier, he 
strained every nerve, and debased every faculty of his 
exalted mind, in forwarding the favourite measures of 
the weak and timid James. Among these, the union of 
the two kingdoms was one that lay nearest his heart; 
but all the powers of argument, and all the eloquence of 
Sir Francis Bacon, could not effeduate this design.^ 
' Thus checked in his political career, he applied him- 
self with more assiduity to the business of his profession; 
and his reputation daily increasing, he soon monopo- 
lized the most lucrative and important causes at the bar. 
It is remarked of Bacon, that when he had no imme- 
diate view of preferrnent at court, he was a faithful and 
an a&ive patriot ; and, having on several occasions de- 
fended the liberties of the people with energy and effeft, 
his aberrations from this line of conduft were not too 
severely marked. Such, indeed, were his transcendent 
abilities, that he was now courted by all parties, and 
love or fear kept them steady in his favour. 

Being appointed attorney-general, he honourably ex- 
exerted himself to suppress duelling, the frequency of 
which had become disgraceful both to religion and go- 
vernment. A charge which he delivered on an occasion; 
of this kind was so much admired, that it was ordered 
to be printed. 
The private affairs of Sir Francis 5&conteing now in 

a most 



LORD VERULAM. 101 

a most flourishing state, and those courtiers who had so 
long opposed his promotion being either dead or re- 
moved, he saw the sun of Villiers, afterwards duke of 
Buckingham, rising towards the zenith of favour ; he 
bowed to its influence, and was taken into the intimate 
friendship of that minister. Yet in this connection he 
must be acquitted of any sinister ends, incompatible 
with his duty. He gave the most excellent advice to 
the new favourite for trie regulation of his conduct ; and 
amidst all his political vagaries, seems, when not sway- 
ed by ambition or interest, to have felt warmly for the 
good of his country, and to have devoted his best ta- 
lents to her service. 

Having previously been sworn of the privy council, 
on the resignation of lord chancellor Egerton, Sir Fran- 
cis Bacon, who had always an eye directed to this high 
office, was promoted to the chair of equity, notwith- 
standing the powerful opposition of Sir Edward Coke. 
But the latter was made of less flexible materials than 
Bacon, and consequently less qualified to please an arbi- 
trary prince. To the high dignity of chancellor was 
added a peerage, by the tide of baron of Verulam ; and 
three years after, the more honourable distinction of 
viscount of St. Alban's. 

Soon after lord Verulam had received the seals, the 
king set out for Scotland ; and being then, in virtue of 
his office, at the head of the council, he felt all the dif- 
ficulties of his situation. The- treaty of marriage be- 
tween Charles prince of Wales and the Infanta of Spain 
being brought on the carpet, the chancellor, who saw 
the impolicy of this measure, strongly remonstrated 
against it both to the king and Buckingham, but he was 
overruled by obstinacy and folly ; and at last the ne- 
gociation was broke oil by the very means taken to 
effect it. 

A matrimonial connection between the daughter of 

Sir 



l62 FRANCIS BACON, 

Sir Edward Coke and die brother of the Duke of Buck- 
ingham likewise gave him much solicitude, lest he 
should be supplanted by such an union of interest against 
him; and he opposed this match with more perseve- 
rance than decency would allow; for which he incurred 
the slight resentment of his master: but the storm soon 
blew over, and Verulam triumphed over all competitors 
at court, at the same time that he was the object of just 
admiration, not only to his country but to Europe, for 
his successful studies, Amidst all the variety and intri- 
cacy of his pursuits, as a lawyer and a statesman, phi- 
losophical research was evidently his ruling passion. 
" Alas!'\exclaims Walpole, " that he, who could com- 
mand immortal fame, should have stooped to the little 
ambition ©f power." 

The instability of human grandeur has been prover- 
bial ever since men could reflect. Scarcely had Veru- 
lam mounted to the summit of his wishes, before he was 
hurled from his station with the loss of his honour and 
the impeachment of his honesty. James, having ex- 
hausted his finances, was obliged to call a parliament; 
and the nation being highly dissatisfied with the public 
conduct both of Buckingham and the chancellor, a strict: 
scrutiny was instituted against them. The king would 
gladly have screened them both, by a stretch of his pre- 
rogative in dissolving the parliament ; but he was obliged 
to temporize till he had obtained some supplies from its 
bounty ; and the chancellor, though certainly the great- 
est man and the least offender, was made the scape-goat 
for the other. To divert the commons from the prose- 
cution of the favourite Buckingham, some monopolies 
and illegal patents were cancelled and recalled by pro- 
clamation; while Verulam was impeached of bribery 
and corruption, in quality of chief judge in equity; and, 
meanly compromising his honour for a pension and a 
promised remission of the fine to be imposed, he com- 
plied 



LORD VERULAM. \63 

plied With the wish of the court, in waving a right to 
speak in his own defence, and was condemned on a writ- 
ten confession. We blush for a man who could be 
made such a dupe, and who could sacrifice all that was 
estimable in -character, to the insidious blandishments 
of a court. Buckingham escaped by this artifice, 
though merely to make his catastrophe more terrible ; 
but Verulam was sentenced to pay a fine of 40,000/. ; 
to be imprisoned in the Tower during the king's plea- 
sure ; to be for ever incapable of any office, place, or 
emolument in the commonwealth ; and never to sit 
again in parliament, or come within the verge of the 
court. 

It is but justice, however, to the character of this 
eminent man to observe, that he fell tfee martyr rather 
to his want of prudence than his want of integrity. 
Notwithstanding his extensive practice at the bar, and 
the high office of state which he had filled, his whole 
landed property did not exceed 600/. a year ; and he 
was so far from having amassed money, that he was 
deeply involved in debt. Owing to his philosophic 
indifference about wealth, his great indulgence to his 
servants, and his total want of economy in the manage- 
ment of his domestic affairs, he had been cheated and 
defrauded without mercy. In short, that bribery and 
corruption for which he was condemned, though he was 
extremely culpable in conniving at it, tended only to 
the advantage of his retainers. The gifts were chiefly 
taken for interlocutory orders ; and so far was the chan- 
cellor from being influenced by them, that there was not 
a single instance in which his decisions were not guided 
by strict equity ; for not one reversal of his decreees fol- 
lower.' his disgrace. 

He seems himself to have been so sensible at last of 
his ill-judged lenity, that one day? during his trial, on 
his domestics rising to do him honour, as he passed 

through 



104 FRANCIS JBACON, 

through the apartment, he said ; " Sit down, my mas- 
ters ; your the has been my fall." He who is destitute 
of prudence will soon be found, or fancied, deficient in 
every other virtue. Without economy there can be no 
independence ; and without independence, in vain shall 
we look for those qualisies that form the ground of 
honourable character. 

Conformably to stipulation, lord Verulam's confine- 
ment was but short ; his fine was remitted ; a pension 
of 1,800/. a year was settled on him ; and he was sum- 
moned to the first parliament of Charles I. notwithstand- 
ing the tenor of his sentence. 

After his disgrace, however, he seems to have been 
perfectly cured of ambition : he withdrew to that let- 
tered ease and retirement for which nature had adapted 
him ; and spent the last years of his life in the noblest 
studies that could engage the mind of man. 

While he was prosecuting some discoveries in experi- 
mental philosophy, near Highgate, he was suddenly 
taken ill, and being carried to the earl of Arundel's house 
in the vicinity, after a week's illness he breathed his last, 
on the 9th day of April, 1626. By his lady, a daughter 
of alderman Barnham, of London^ whom he married 
when near forty years of age, he left no issue ; and his 
title, of course, became extinct. 

He was buried in St. Michael's church at St. Alban's, 
and for some time lay without a stone to mark his name, 
tili the gratitude of Sir Thomas Meautys, who had for- 
merly been his secretary, erected the monument to a me- 
mory which can never die. 

In person, lord Verulam was of the middling stature ; 
his forehead broad and open, was early stamped with 
the marks of age i his eyes were lively and penetrating ; 
and his whole appearance venerably pleasing. 

So differently has his character been delineated, ac- 
cording to the different lights in which it has been view- 

ed ? 



LORD VERULAM. l65 

ed, that by some his real blemishes are wholly thrown 
into shade; by others they are made to occupy the most 
prominent place on the canvas. His failings we have 
candidly endeavoured to represent ; his great and ex- 
alted qualities need not our feeble commendation. He 
was, no doubt, impressed with a sense of his own illus- 
trious attainments when he penned this singular pas- 
sage in his last will : — " for my name and memory, I 
leave it to men's charitable speeches, and to foreign na- 
tions, -and the next ages." And well might he make 
this appeal ; for in general his faulty, compared to his 
excellencies, were only like spots on the surface of the 
sun. 

We cannot better conclude our account of this extra- 
ordinary genius, than with a brief enumeration of his 
learned labours. His earliest philosophic production 
seems to have been the First Part of Essays; or Counsels, 
civil and moral. In this work, he lays down the useful 
principles of knowledge and prudence ; and points out 
the means of obviating ills, and obtaining blessings. 

Next appeared the introduction to his most capital per- 
formance, On the Proficicnce and Advancement of Learning, 
divine and human. The general design of this treatise was 
to exhibit a concise view of existing knowledge, under 
proper divisions ; with hints to supply its deficiencies. 
After his seclusion from public business, this was very 
much enlarged, and turned into Latin, and properly 
constitutes the first part of his Grand Installation of the 
Sciences. 

In 1607? he sent forth a treatise, entitled Cogitata et 
Visa ; which, as containing the plan of his Novum Orga- 
num, or second part of the Instauration of the Sciences, 
had been previously submitted to the most able literary 
friends, for their remarks and improvements. 

Three years after was published his exquisite little 
work, De Sapietitia Veierum ; and few books met with 

> a better 



l66 BISHOP ANDREWS* 

a better reception, or acquired more general celebrity 
than this. 

And lastly? in 1620, when in the zenith of his glory, 
he produced his most important philosophical work, 
under the appellation of the Novum Organum ScUnfiarwn ; 
which is, properly., a second part of his Grand Instau- 
ration of the Sciences, a performance, which, to praise 
would be idle, and to depreciate would be vain. 

His collected works were elegantly published in five 
volumes., 4to. in 1765. 



LANCELOT ANDREWS, 

BISHOP OF WINCHESTER, 

Born 1555— Died 1626. 

From 2d Mary I. to 2d Charles L 

THE life of a good man, whatever his station or 
his success may be, cannot be written without 
pleasure, nor read without improvement; but, when we 
find the purest principles, the most extensive learning, 
and the utmost amenity of manners, receding lustre on 
preferment, the narrative becomes doubly interesting ; 
and we delight in tracing by what progressive steps ex- 
alted merit has risen to a suitable reward. 

This eminent divine, the contemporary and friend of 
Verulam, was the son of a mariner, who, towards the 
decline of life, was chosen master of the Trinity-house 
at Deptford. Of his connections little more is known, 
but that they were dignified by such a son. He was 
born in the parish of Allhallows, near Tower-hill ; and 
having received the elements of education at the Coop- 
ers' free-school in Ratcliffe-highway, he was removed 

to 



BISHOP ^ANDREWS. 1 67 

to Merchant-taylors* school* under the tuition of Mr. 
Mulcaster. His astonishing progress in classical lore 
endeared him to his master, and by him he was recom- 
mended as a proper object to receive one of the scholar- 
ships thea lately founded, at Pembroke college, Cam- 
bridge, by Dr. Watts, archdeacon of Middlesex. 

Having, in consequence, been honoured with the first 
nomination, he plied his studies with such assiduity, par- 
ticularly in theology, and rendered himself so accepta- 
ble by his conduct, that he was soon chosen fellow of 
his college, and afterwards catechist. In the exercise 
of this vocation, he read lectures on the decalogue ; and 
as he possessed a graceful address, and fine elocution, 
his pulpit orations were much admired, and generally 
attended. His personal merits, and his growing reputa- 
tion as a divine, soon reached the ears of the founder of 
Jesus college, Oxford ; and, without his knowledge, he 
was complimented with one of the first fellowships in 
that new society. 

Of his minor habits, which sometimes develope the 
features of the heart more explicitly than the most im- 
portant actions, sdme pleasing details have been handed 
down to posterity. His filial affection, a virtue without 
which no one can he reckoned good or great, was so il- 
lustrious, that after he had been initiated at the univer- 
sity, he never failed to visit his parents in London, on 
proper occasions, during his residence botli at Cam- 
bridge and Oxford ; and that he might fill up those in- 
tervals, so dear to every feeling mind, with advantage, 
he took care to be provided with a private tutor, to in- 
struct him in such branches of science or art, as were 
not usually taught in the universities. By this means, 
within a few years, he acquired a prodigious fund of 
knowledge, to whicL he added an acquaintance with 
modern languages. 

His 



l68 BlSHOp ANDREWS. 

His journies to town he constantly performed on 
foot, till he had attained to such rank in the university, 
that he was fearful his love of pedestrWn exercise should 
be ascribed to parsimony. Yet walking still continued 
to be his favourite amusement, and he rationally pre- 
ferred it to all others ; declaring, that the contempla- 
tion of nature, and the examination of its various pro- 
ductions, were to him the most exquisite of all enter- 
tainments. 

The common recreations of volatile youth, the games 
invented to kill time without improvement, he never re- 
lished ; but sought for higher gratification in science 
and meditation. 

Such was his reputation, that he never had occasion 
to seek a patron. Happy man ! he never knew the an- 
guish of hope deferred, nor the misery of attendance 
and dependence. Henry earl of Huntingdon, lord pre- 
sident of the North, without solicitation, appointed him 
his chaplain ; and he accompanied that nobleman in ' 
his progress through that part of the kingdom, where 
he converted many from popery by his preaching, and 
more by his private exhortations. 

Such zeal and success, at once recommended him to 
Sir Francis Walsingham, the secretary of state ; who, 
rightly judging that his abilities would be more useful 
as the stage was wider on which they were displayed, 
first procured him the vicarage of St. Giles's, Cripple- 
gate ; and, in a short time after, a residentiaryship of 
St. Paul's, with a prebendal stall in the collegiate church 
of Southwell annexed. 

Thus preferred, probably beyond his humble and nn/ 
aspiring hof es, he redoubled his diligence as a preacher, 
till he was promoted to the mastership of Pembroke- 
hall, to which he afterwards bee me a generous bene- 
factor. His next preferment was that of chaplain-in- 
ordinary 



BISHOjP ANDREWS. \Qg 

ordinary to Queen Elizabeth ; who, charmed with his 
stile of pulpit eloquence, made him dean of Westmin- 
ster, in 1601. 

After the demise of his royal patroness, he had the 
good fortune to be holden in equal estimation by her 
successor James ; who, conscious of his talents, prompt- 
ed him to answer cardinal Bellarmine, who had viru- 
lently attacked his majesty's book, entitled " The De- 
fence of the Right of Kings. " The dodrrines of James 
were certainly most inimical to the catholic interest ; 
and Bellarmine, under the signature of Matthew Tortus, 
endeavoured to refute them. Dean Andrews, wittily 
playing on the adopted name, entitled his reply Tortura 
Torti ; and so far succeeded in supporting his master's 
cause, that he was rewarded with the bishopric of Chi- 
chester ; and, independently of his merit in this parti- 
cular service^, never did man better, deserve the mitre, - 
As a farther token of royal munificence and regard, he 
was likewise made lord-almoner, in which office he 
shewed the purest disinterestedness, so far as to sacri- 
fice his legal and undoubted rights. 

It was not long before the king had an opportunity 
of conferring a fresh reward upon this learned and 
pious prelate. On the vacancy of the see of Ely,, he 
was translated thither in 1609 ; and the same year was 
sworn of the king's privy council, both in England and' 
Scotland. 

After discharging the duties of his prelatical function' 
at Ely for nine years, with the -most conscientious atten- 
tion ; without solicitation, and without intrigue, he was 
promoted to the valuable see of Winchester, and ap- 
pointed dean of the chapel-royal. To the honour of bi- 
shop Andrews it ought to be mentioned, that though 
a privy counsellor in times of considerable difficulty and 
danger, when arbitrary principles were little disguised, 
and royal prerogative stretched to the utmost verge of 
H power. 



170 BISHOP ANDREWS, 

power, he never sank his dignity by base compliances, 
nor irritated by useless opposition. "Wisely placing his 
honour and his duty in the faithful discharge of his 
pastoral office, he avoided the entanglements of tempo- 
ral affairs, and attached that respect to his character, 
which no mitred dabbler in party politics can ever hope 
to acquire. As a proof at once of the integrity of his 
principles and the promptness of his wit, we insert the 
following anecdote which is well authenticated.— One 
day, while James was at dinner, immediately after dis- 
solving the parliament, Andrews, bishop of Winchester, 
and Niele, bishop of Durham, were standing behind his 
chair. In the course of conversation, his majesty asked 
the two prelates if he was not authorized to take what- 
ever money he wanted from his subjects without the 
formality of a parliament ? The sycophantic-Niele rea- 
dily exclaimed, " God forbid, sir, but you should ; you 
are the breath of our nostrils." The king then turned 
to Andrews with "Well, my lord, what say you :" 
" Sir," replied he, " I have no skill to judge" in parlia- 
mentary cases." On this the king hastily added, " No 
put-offs, my lord, answer me presently." " Then, sir," 
said he, " I think it lawful for you to take my brother 
Niele's money, for he offers it." 

This shrewd evasion of a very delicate question amu- 
sed the company extremely : even James affected at 
least to be pleased with its humorous turn, and proba- 
bly in his own breast entertained a much more exalted 
idea of Andrews than of Niele. 

After enjoying a very rare" felicity in the singular es- 
teem of three successive sovereigns, the friendship of the 
learned and the great, and the veneration of the good, 
during a long and tranquil life, uniformly devoted to 
the cause of piety and virtue, this illustrious prelate was 
called from this world to a better, in 1626. He died at 
Winchester-house, Southwark, and was interred in the 

church 



BISHOP ANDREWS. 171 

church of St. Saviour, where a handsome monument 
of marble and alabaster, with an elegant Latin inscrip- 
tion, was erected to his memory. His loss was lamented 
by the pious, and his virtues embalmed by the learned. 
Among others, the immortal Milton, then about seven- 
teen years of age, honoured him with a beautiful Latin 
elegy, one of the first productions of his muse. 

After having run through the more public scenes of 
bishop Andrews's life, with pleasure we revert to his pri- 
vate virtues. So truly amiable was his character as a 
prelate and a man, that it furnishes both an example 
and incentive to excellence, and ought not to be dis- 
missed with frigid indifference. His contemporaries 
have decorated his herse with unfading flowers, and we 
cannot do a more valuable service to those who have 
their course yet to run, than to select some of their- 
choicest sweets. The ductile mind of youth is prone to 
imitation ; and in bishop Andrews they have a pattern 
worthy of their love and esteem. 

Though cheerful in his disposition, there was such a 
tempered gravity in his manner, as checked the sallies 
of indecent levity. According to Fuller, James himself, 
who was much inclined to buffoonery, seemed to feel 
some awe and veneration in the presence of bishop 
Andrews. "Had he lived among the primitive bishops 
of the church," says one of his biographers, " his vir- 
tues would have shined even among those virtuous 
men." In short; to him might be applied what was 
sometimes said of Claudius Drusus, " that he possessed 
as many and as great' virtues, as mortal nature could 
receive, or industry rear to perfection." 

As a diocesan, he was remarkably careful to pro- 
mote men of learning and virtue. He invited unbene* 
ficed clergymen of reputed merit to visit him ; defrayed 
the expences of their journey ; and if, on conversation 
H 2 with. 



17 '2 BISHOP ANDREWS, 

with them, they were found worthy of his patronage, . 
he preferred them as his livings became vacant. Thus 
seeing with his own eyes, and hearing with his own ears, 
he suffered no intrigues to impede the rise of worth, no 
recommendations to bias his judgment in favour of ig- 
norance and irreligion. 

As it pleased Providence to increase his fortune, his 
charity and liberality rose in the same proportion. He 
took particular delight in liberating those who had the 
misfortune to be confined for small debts, a. charity of 
the most beneficial kind, as well to individuals as to so- 
ciety. But wherever his bounty could be privately ap- 
plied, none but the immediate agent was sensible of the 
benefa&or. The vouchers which he required for the 
faithful discharge of the trust, were indeed to be signed 
by the person relieved ; but the sympathizing friend 
was unknown. In an age, when it is much to be feared 
• that charity is frequently the* result of ostentation ra- 
ther than of principle, we cannot expect that bishop 
Andrews will find many imitators ; yet the precedent is 
worthy of commemoration and applause. 

Another quality for which he was illustrious, was 
gratitude. As perfection is unattainable by humanity, 
some blemishes of one kind or other will adhere even to 
the best of men ; but, where gratitude is wanting, the 
heart itself is depraved. So warm was our prelate's 
sense of this virtue, that when he had it in his power, 
he not only remunerated those who had shown him 
kindness in his unprotected years, but extended his care 
to their relations. For the son of his first school-master 
he liberally provided ; and such was his personal esteem 
for Mr. Mulcaster, under whom he had studied at Mer- 
chant-Taylors', that he always placed him at the head 
of his table while he lived, and hung his picture in the 
most conspicuous part of his study when he was dead. 

Other 



SIR EDWARD COKE. 173 

Other attestations to his grateful remembrance of fa- 
vours might be produced, but these are sufficient to 
evince his prevailing character. 

As a scholar, his reputation was high indeed. He is 
said to have understood at least fifteen languages ; and 
his fame was not confined to this island, but extended 
to most parts of Europe. His literary correspondence 
was very extensive. Casaubon bears testimony to his 
universal eruditron ; and Spanheim and Vossius are 
eloquent in his praife. Yet it must be confessed that his 
compositions were vitiated by the bad taste of the 
times. Tb t ey were full of pun and wit, and scraps of 
Greek and Latin ; and though all of them display the 
goodness of his heart and his extensive learning, they 
would now be read rather for improvement than for 
pleasure. This prelate had a. considerable share in that 
translation of the Bible which is' now in use. 



SIR EDWARD COKE, 

LORD CHIEF JUSTICE OP ENGLAXC 

Born 1550— Died 1634. 

From 3d Edward FT. to 9th Charles I. 

OF all the professions, that of jurisprudence affords 
the fairest and most promising field v for the exer- 
cise of abilities. The divine, with very slender preten- 
sions to talents, may mount on the props of patronage 
or connections ; the physician is often more indebted 
for success to his address than his skill ; but neither pa- 
tronage, connections, nor address, can make a man an 
able lawyer or an eloquent pleader. In this profession 
there must be intrinsic merit, which at last will sur- 
H 3 mount 



174 SIR EDWARD COKE. 

mount all difficulties, and, trusting to itself alone, will 
if at all called into action, command that attention 
which the generality of men are obliged to court. It 
is not, therefore, to be wondered at that there should 
be so many candidates for the honours of the bar; and 
that, from among so many competitors, there should be 
some splendid instances of a right direction given to 
faculties, and of successful labours. 

Among those whose legal attainments acquired them 
honour and opulence alive, and whose works instruct 
when dead, Sir Edward Coke holds an elevated place. 
This luminary of the law was the son of Robert Coke, 
esq. of Mileham, in the county of Norfolk. After a 
slight domestic education, he was sent to the grammar- 
school of Norwich, when ten years old, and in due time 
removed to Trinity college, Cambridge. 

What early evidences he gave of genius or applica- 
tion, at school or college, we have no account. Our 
nascent and our juvenile years commonly pass unre- 
corded away, and are soon forgotten. Talents are de- 
veloped at very uncertain periods; the sprightly boy 
does not always turn out the man of abilities ; nor does 
the backward genius of youth always characterize ma- 
turer years. 

It seems Coke was originally destined for the law, 
for, after five years' study at Cambridge, he was entered 
of Clifford's-inn ; and the first incident that brought him 
into any notice was the precision with which he stated 
the cook's case of the house, and the shrewdness with 
which he pleaded it. 

It has been remarked,, on other occasions, that the 
fortunes of men frequently turn on slight and fortuitous 
circumstances, which no foresight can anticipate, no 
prudence can forward or retard. When the young law- 
yer was defending the cause of the cook, he probably 
little thought that such an insignificant introduction 

would 



SIR EDWARD COKE. - 175 

would be the basis of his future feme; yet it seems that 
in consequence of the admiration which he excited on 
this occasion, he was called to the bar more early than 
had been usual; and, according to his own reports, in 
trinity term, 1578, he defended a clergyman of Norfolk, 
in an aclion of scandalum tnagnatum, brought against him 
by Henry lord Cromwell. 

About- this time he was appointed reader of LyonV 
inn, and his lectures increased his reputation. By ra- 
pid degrees he acquired such extensive practice, and was 
considered as such r, that after being 

seven years at the bar, he gained a co-heiress of the an- 
cient and honourable Paston Family, with whom he had 
a portion of 30,0001. 

By this marriage he became allied to seme of the no- 
blest houses in the kingdom; and honours and emolu- 
ments began to be showered upon him abundantly. Ke 
was chosen recorder of Coventry and Norwich, obtained 
the patronage of Burleigh, and was frequently consult- 
ed on political as well as forensic a£airs. Being return- 
ed to parliament by his native county of Norfolk, he 
was first appointed queen's solicitor, and soon after 
chosen speaker of the house of commons. In 159% he 
became attorney-general; and by this step his rise to 
the summit of his profession was, in a manner,- ensured. 
The only important business, however, in which he was 
employed in his new station, during the reign of Eliza- 
beth, was the trial of the earl of Essex, against whom 
-he pleaded with peculiar acrimony. 

Being left a widower with ten children, he turned his 
thoughts to another match of great fortune, and still 
greater connections. This was the relict of Sir William 
Hatton, and sister to Thomas lord Burleigh. But this 
marriage, however it might aggrandize him, was fatal 
to his domestic felicity. Their discordant tempers were 
the source of mutual misery ; and after many bickerings 
H"4 and 



3 70 SIR EDWARD coke. 

and partial separations^ king James was obliged to be* 
come a mediator between them. But no authority can 
awaken the passion of love, or relume its extinguished 
flame: they lived but to curse 'their destiny: and the 
lawyer sought solace in business and ambition, instead 
of those sweeter comforts which a happy home can im- 
part. 

In May 1603, he was knighted by king James, and in 
the same year conducted the trial of the brave, unfor- 
tunate Sir Walter Raleigh with such asperity and inso- 
lence, such scurrility and cruelty, as greatly lessened 
the respect of the public for his character. However, 
he gained credit by his s sagacity, in unravelling that 
dark and vindictive conspiracy, the gun-powder plot; 
and on the trial of the conspirators, gave the most une- 
quivciral proofs of extensive capacity, acute penetration, 
and solid judgment. Soon after he was appointed lord 
chief justice of the common pleas ; on which occasion he 
took for his motto the significant and appropriate words, 
lex est tuthsbna cassia, u the law is the safest helmet.' J 
Having holden this post with high reputation for seven 
years, he was promoted to be lord chief justice of the 
king's bench, and sworn a privy counsellor. 

Two years afterwards, when Egerton, lord Ellesmere, 
vacated the place of lord high chancellor, his majesty 
was at a loss to determine on a successor, and seems to 
have thought of Sir Edward Coke ; but the intrigues of 
Bacon and others prevailed: for the lord chief justice, 
though the greatest lawyer, was far from being the be^t 
politician. Bacon, taking advantage of the inflexible 
character of his rival, painted his own more compliant 
disposition in such colours, as suited the humour and 
the principles of James, and in consequence he bore 
away the prize. Between Coke and Bacon there ap- 
pears not only to have been a generous emulation for 
rank and distinction, but a personal animosity which 

death 



' i^ SIR EDWARD COKE. 1/7 

death only could extinguish. Bacon, perhaps, envied 
that legal superiority which Coke was generally allow- 
ed to possess ; and Coke, in indignation and despair, 
beheld that universality of genius in Bacon, which de- 
fied all competition, and gained him the highest admira- 
tion of mankind. 

But to return. Though Sir Edward Coke had, in 
the situation of attorney-general, and with prospects of 
higher preferment before him, stretched the prerogative, 
in some cases, too far ; no sooner was he -elevated to 
the chief bench of justice, than he seems to have been 
determined to maintain the integrity and independence 
of his post. He gave public notice how much he de- 
tested corruption, by frequently repeating this maxim, 
u that a judge should neither give nor take a bribe f* 
and, instead of complying with arbitrary measures, on 
various occasions, which it does.not enter within our 
plan to recount, he shewed himself the firm friend of 
the liberties of his country, and the rights of individual?. 

This conduct, however honourable to himself, was 
not likely to ingratiate him with James, or render his 
office permanent: for, till die present auspicious reign, 
the judges were dependent on the royal will; and jus- 
tice w r anted this best and greatest safeguard, an assur- 
ance that its ministers could not be displaced, except 
for malversation in their office. 

By degrees Sir Edward Coke became more and more 
obnoxious to government; and the chancellor Bacon, 
in the plenitude of his power, eagerly widened the 
breach by his courtly insinuations. The immediate 
cause of Sir Edward's disgrace is differently accounted 
for. Certainly he had shewn himself unfavourable to 
the leading maxims of James's court; he had. offended 
the favourite Sir George Villiers, afterwards duke of 
•Buckingham ; arid the chancellor, as we have seen be- 
fore, was his inveterate enemy, 

H 5 Against 



178 SIR EDWARD COKE. 

Against such a combination of powerful interests, it 
was impossible for him to maintain his ground : his fall 
was determined; and the manner in . which it was ac- 
complished was to the last degree humiliating. 

Being called before the privy council, on the 20th of 
June, 1616, in the most unprecedented manner, he was 
obliged to kneel, while the solicitor-general, Yelvertcn, 
preferred several vague accusations against him; such 
as, " speeches of high contempt uttered in the seat of 
justice, and uncomely and undutiful carriage in the 
presence of his majesty, the privy council, and the 
judges." 

Reduced to this humiliating situation, in an able and 
impartial manner he exculpated himself from the seve- 
ral charges urged against him, in support of which no 
direct evidence was advanced; but his removal being 
predetermined, the only business was to slope the way, 
and to invent some plausible excuses for such an exer- 
tion of power. 

At a second examination before the council-board, 
one of the secretaries of state informed him, that his 
majesty desired he might be sequestered from the coun- 
cil-table, till his farther pleasure was known ; that he 
should fqrbear to ride his summer circuit as judge of 
assize ; and, lastly, that he should, during the vacation, 
revise his book of reports, in which it was declared 
there were many extravagant and exorbitant opinions ; 
and having made what corrections his discretion recom- s 
mended, he was to exhibit the same privately to the 
king. Thus it appears the pedant James wished to 
assume the office of hyperergic ; and was, perhaps, the 
first, and we hope will be the last, of our sovereigns to 
usurp a character so degrading to royalty. 

Sir Edward submitted to his majesty's commands; 
yet at the commencement of next term, the lord chan- 
cellor imperiously forbade him Westminster-hall, and 
6 ordered 



SIR EDWARD COKE. 179 

ordered him to answer several exceptions against his 
reports. The following month he was dismissed from 
the office of lord chief justice; when lord Verulam not 
only privately triumphed in his disgrace, but personally 
insulted him by a very acrimonious composition, under 
the title of " An Admonitory Letter," in which he 
totally forgot the dignity of ' the gentleman, and the 
meekness of the philosopher. 

But though degraded by the court, Sir Edward was 
not yet disgraced in the eyes of die people ; and if he 
had shewn that fortitude and steadiness of resolution 
which the occasion required, he might have been con- 
sidered as a martyr to his incorruptible integrity. Un- 
fortunately, however, either a love of power, or a rank- 
ling desire to triumph once more over a rival by whom 
he had been foiled, prevailed on him to adopt a plan of 
policy, in which he was every way die loser. Haughty 
and arrogant in his prosperity, he became dejected and 
fawning in his adversity; and therefore neither deserved 
to be an object of respect in one fortune, nor of generous 
sympathy in the other. 

While chief justice, he had rejected with disdain some 
overtures of marriage between his daughter and Sir 
John Villiers, brother of Buckingham; but no sooner 
was his fall consummated, than he -magnified his own 
disgrace by courting this alliance through the most ab- 
ject means, and the most inconsiderate conduct. In. 
fact, he gave a carte blanche to Buckingham, in crder 
that he might insert what conditions he pleased in fa- 
vour of his brother; and as interest, not love, was the 
basis of the proposed match, the terms insisted on were 
sufficiently exorbitant, But Sir Edward had gone too 
far to recede, and hoped for such influence by this con- 
nection, that he regarded not the great diminution of 
his own income, which the settlement occasioned, nor 
, his own honour, which was compromised. His lady, 
H 6 however* 



180 SIR EDWARD COKE. 

however, became quite outrageous at his proceedings In 
this affair, and disapproving of the match, merely be- 
cause she had not been consulted on its propriety, car- 
ried off her daughter ; and thus the whole family and 
their connections were thrown into confusion. The 
young la<ly being rescued by force, both husband and 
wife appealed in their turn to the privy council ; but Sir 
Edward having, as a preliminary, regained a seat at 
that board, the marriage was quickly solemnized with 
great state, and a mutual reconciliation was effected be- 
tween all parties. It may not, however, be improper to 
remark, that this connection was as disastrous in its con- 
sequences as unpleasant in its commencement. Sir John ' 
Villiers, having obtained a fortune, disregarded the per- 
son who conferred it ; and his lady recriminated by the 
most flagrant violations of decorum. 

The lord chief-justiceship having been disposed of be- 
fore this business was brought on the tapis, Sir Edward 
was precluded from all hopes of resuming that high 
station; but being reinstated in council, he was em- 
ployed in various important political negociations, par- 
ticularly in adjusting the differences between the Dutch 
and English East-India Companies. 

A parliament being summoned in 1621, Sir Edward 
Coke was chosen a member; and probably finding that 
he had been duped by that party to which he had sacri- 
ficed so much, he exerted his great talents and his elo- 
quence in depicting the mischievous tendency of many 
tninisterial measures. At the same time he boldly con- 
tended for the constitutional privileges of parliament, 
which subsisted, as he maintained, independent of the x 
royal prerogative ; and urged, with great animation, the 
institution of a committee to inquire into the national 
grievances. 

In consequence of this spirited behaviour, which, 
whether it was dictated by patriotism or spite, we will 

not 



SIR EDWARD COKE. 131 

not pretend to determine, the king, jealous to the last 
degree of his prerogative, became extremely alarmed ; 
and by an injudicious proclamation interdicted all per- 
sons from intermeddling, by pen or speech, with state 
affairs; and even intimated to parliament, that politics 
were above their comprehensions and that all the privi- 
leges they claimed, flowed from his royal grace and fa- 
vour, and might be withdrawn at his pleasure. 

Such were the wild and dangerous principles which, 
though not originally broached by the Stuarts, certainly 
brought that devoted family to ruin and disgrace. In 
the reign of the last Henry, the most daring infringe- 
ments of the people's rights, which are inseparably con- 
nected with the independence of parliament, were suf- 
fered to pass unnoticed. In the feign of Elizabeth, the 
nation began to increase in opulence and resources ; a 
spirit of inquiry was diffused among all ranks, and the 
representatives began to feel tl^eir consequence, though 
they seldom ventured to defend it. The policy of that 
great princess, and her well-known ardent attachment 
to the honour and happiness of her subjects, silenced all 
opposition to her will; but when James shewed the most 
determined design to trample on those liberties, which 
had either been legitimately sanctioned or tacitly allow- 
ed during a long succession of ages; when he extorted 
money from his people, merely to squander it away on 
his vicious minions ; the parliament began to assume its 
due constitutional powers, and the nation seconded its 
laudable endeavours. The conflict was renewed or sus- 
pended, according as parties clashed or were united ; 
but from this period the separate rights of the consti- 
tuent branches of the government began to be ascer- 
tained and defined with a greater degree of precision • 
and though frequently overlooked in party contentions 
and political rage, were never quite forgotten, till the - 

glorious 



182 SIK EDWARD COKE. 

glorious fabric of patriot government was completed at 
the Revolution. 

To trace effecls to their first causes occasioned this 
digression. The parliament, in turn, alarmed at the 
royal language, drew up a protest couched in strong but 
constitutional terms, which was ordered to be entered 
on the journals. James being apprised of this measure, 
with headlong rage hastened to the house of commons, 
and tore out the protestation with his own hand, which 
he declared to be null and void. He then prorogued the 
parliament ; and soon after Sir Edward Coke was sent 
to the Tower, for the intrepidity which he had shewn in 
asserting the people's rights. 

Whatever were the motives of this illustrious lawyer's 
original opposition to the measures of the court, he was 
now confirmed a patriot. There is a spirit in noble 
minds which rises with injuries, but is easily allayed by 
kindness. He now became warm in the cause for which 
he had suffered ; and the remainder of his life was one 
scene of steady and honourable exertion, in the cause of 
freedom and his country. 

The nation was thrown into a flame by the imperious 
and indecent conduct of James towards the parliament ; 
and this desperate a£t of tearing out the protestation 
from the journals of the house of commons, may be 
justly said to have pointed the dagger to the bosom of 
his son and successor, to the unhappy Charles. 

Sir Edward was soon liberated, as it could not be 
proved that he had transgressed the limits of his duty ; 
but, to place a stigma upon him, he was a second time 
erased from the list of privy counsellors, when the king 
complimented him by declaring, " that he was the fittest 
instrument for a tyrant that ever was in England ;" 
though it is pretty evident, that this could only be said 
to bring him into suspicion with the people. 

During 



SIH EDWARD COKE. 183 

During the remainder of the reign of James, Sir Ed- 
ward seems to have strenuously supported the principles 
which he had avowed, and to have been wholly out of 
favour at court. In the beginning of the next reign, 
when it was found necessary to call a parliament, so 
apprehensive was the administration of his powerful 
talents and expected opposition, that, against all de- 
cency and precedent, he was obliged to serve the office 
of high sheriff of Bucks, and to attend the judges at the 
assize, where he had often presided as lord chief-justice. 

This, however, was only a temporary expedient to 
silence him. In the parliament of 1628, he was return- 
ed for Buckinghamshire ; and exerted himself with un- 
common energy in defending the liberty of the subject, 
and the privileges of the commons. He had a principal 
hand in drawing up what was called " the petition of 
right," praying, among other particulars, That no loan 
or tax might be levied but by consent of parliament ; 
that no person might be imprisoned but by legal process ; 
that soldiers should not be quartered on people against 
their wills; and that no commissions should be granted 
for executing martial law. 

The king hesitating to comply with this in direct 
terms, but yet not rejecting it, Sir Edward used the most 
inflammatory language, and urged parliament not to 
depend on the royal professions, but to persist in ob- 
taining the customary sanction ; which his majesty at 
last reluctantly gave. His whole conduct now bore the 
aspect of insult to his sovereign, rather than of that mild 
and firm patriotism which would have reflected honour 
on his memory ; and he may be said to have been a 
principal instigator of those measures which ended in 
the temporary destruction of monarchy. 

After the dissolution of this parliament, which hap* 
pened in 1629, he retired to his house at Stoke Pogges, 
in Bucks; where he closed a long life, in 1634, expiring 

with 



184 SIR EDWARD COKE. 

with these words in his mouth, " thy kingdom come, thy 
will be done." 

Such was the resentment of the court against him, 
that, while he lay on his death-bed, Sir Francis Winde- 
bank, by an order of council, rummaged his house for 
seditious and dangerous papers ; and, by virtue of this 
authority, carried off his commentary upon Littleton, 
the history of his own life* and numerous manuscripts, 
together with his" very will and. testament. At the re- 
quest of his son and heir, seven years afterwards, such 
of his papers as could be found were delivered up ; but 
many of them were irrecoverably lost, and among the 
rest his will. 

Sir Edward Coke was well proportioned, and regular 
in his features. In his dress he was neat rather than 
effeminate; and it was one of his sentiments, " that the 
cleanness of a man's clothes ought to put him in mind of 
keeping all clean within." He possessed great quick- 
ness of parts, a retentive memory, and a solid judgment. 
In his profession he was unrivalled : he had sudied it 
entirely, and he was master of all its parts. He Was wont 
to say, " that matter lay in little room," and therefore 
was concise in his pleadings; but diffuse and elaborate 
in his set speeches and writings. 

He plumed himself on deriving his fortune, his repu- 
tation, and preferments, not from solicitations, adula- 
tion, or intrigue, but from his profound knowledge in the 
law. By the gentlemen of his profession he was greatly- 
honoured and beloved ; and his reputation as a law- 
writer is so firmly established in the courts, that his 
works are considered as legal authorities. With unex- 
ampled diligence he committed every thing to writing; 
for law was his element, and he loved it with enthusiastic 
ardour. 

Amidst various vicissitudes of fortune, he never seems 
to have desponded; and king James used to compare 

him 



EARL OF STRAFFORD, 185 

him to a cat, that always falls upon its legs. No sooner 
had he suffered a disgrace, than he began to project the 
means of effacing it, and of rising superior to his ene- 
mies. The steps which he took, the line of conduct 
which he pursued, were not always the most dignified, 
but they seem in general to have been the most effectual 
to answer the intended purpose. 

He was partial to men of merit, though not an abso- 
lute Maecenas ; and having many benefices in his own 
patronage, he was careful to bestow them gratuitously 
on the most deserving clergymen ; declaring, " that he 
would have church preferment pass by livery and seisin, 
not by bargain and sale." 



SIR THOMAS WENTWORTH, 

EARL OF STRAFFORD, 

Born 1593— Beheaded 1641. 

From 35th Elizabeth to 16M Charles L 

IT is one unhappy consequence of factious and per- 
turbed times, that the characters of the principal per- 
formers in the drama are seeji through a false medium. 
By their partisans they are exhibited as immaculate, by 
their enemies as devoid of every virtue. The unfortu- 
nate earl of Strafford is among the number of those 
whom the fatal contest between prerogative and consti- 
tutional liberty consigned to a premature grave; and so 
variously have his qualities been estimated, that we must 
infer them from impartially reviewing the tenor of his 
conduct, not from the colours in which they have been. 
dressed either by his favourers or opponents. 

Thomas Wentworth was descended from a very an- 
cient 



186 EARL OF STRAFFORD. 

cient family, seated at Wentworth in Yorkshire. His, 
father was a baronet, and his mother, daughter and 
heiress of Sir Robert Atkins, knight, of the county of 
Gloucester, He was born in London, and after a pro- 
per grammatical education, was entered of St. John's 
college, Cambridge; where his diligence and applica- 
tion to literature and science soon rendered him conspi- 
cuous. Born, however, to a patrician fortune, his studies 
were directed with no view to any particular profession ; 
and as it was his' principal object to complete the cha- 
racter of a gentleman, after quitting the university, he 
set out on foreign travels. 

By the time when he had reached his majority, his 
father died, and the baronetage, and family estate of 
about 6000/. per annum, devolved on him. Owing to 
his property and influence, he was appointed custos 
rotulorum of Yorkshire, and was early elected a repre- 
sentative for that county in parliament. On his first 
essays in the grand theatre of public life, -history is si- 
lent; but we find, that in the new parliament on the 
accession of Charles I. he enlisted under the banners of 
opposition, and became so formidable by his eloquence, 
that to prevent its display he was nominated high she- 
riiF of Yorkshire, in 1626 ; and the same year put under 
an arrest, for refusing his contribution to an arbitrary 
loan. 

. In the parliament, however, of 1628, he strenuously 
exerted himself to obtain a redress of grievances ; and 
with great severity rating the conduct of ministers while 
he exonerated the king from blame, thus kept up a 
kind of armed neutrality, though his immediate object 
was not suspected by the party with which he had con- 
nected himself. 

His talents and influence were now so universally ac- 
knowledged, that they were worth some sacrifices to se- 
cure. It was found that he had his price; and a peer- 
age, 



EARL OF STRAFFORD. J 87 

age, with the presidentship, of the north, were the terms 
of his surrender into the arms of the court. At first, 
however, he affected some coyness, and seemed ashamed 
to avow his apostacy ; but wishing to magnify his ser- 
vices, he at last threw off his disguise to the popular 
leader Pym, and endeavoured to gain him as an associ- 
ate in his new character. Pym was not so easily won, 
and replied in bitter, but prophetic terms, " You have 
left us ; but I will not leave you while your head is on 
your shoulders!" 

Scouted by his former friends, he sought consolation 
in acquiring new, particularly archbishop Laud, w r ith 
whom he formed a close intimacy, and whose measures 
he vigorously supported. As president of the north he 
behaved with great severity, and, in some cases, with 
puerile insolence; for he committed the son of lord 
Falconberg for no other offence but neglecting to move 
his hat to him ; though it appeared that the young noble- 
man was actually looking another way, when the presi- 
dent expected this compliment. 

Being afterwards promoted to the high orBce of lord 
deputy of Ireland, with very ample powers, which were 
still too limited for his ambition, he distinguished him- 
self by his arbitrary measures and his fondness for pa- 
rade ; but his government, on the whole, was so prudent 
and decisive, that he improved the finances to a wonder- 
ful degree, and brought the Irish church to a perfect 
uniformity with that of England. Regarding Ireland 
as a conquered countrrfhe did not hesitate to enforce his 
authority by stretches beyond the law; and he treated 
some of the most illustrious peers of that kingdom with 
an arrogance which admits of no excuse. He impri- 
soned the earl of Kiidare for opposing his propositions 
to parliament ; and, on a private misunderstanding, pro- 
voked by his own insolence, he brought lord Mount- 
morres to trial by a court martial, and condemned him 

to 



188 EARL OF STRAFFORD. 

to die. The sentence was, indeed, mitigated ; but this 
nobleman was stript of an estate, of all his employments, 
civil and military, obliged to acknowledge the justice of 
his doom, and to suffer three years imprisonment. 

Such conduct must have alienated the affections of 
the tamest people ; nor was it politically necessary. The 
exercise of duty sometimes requires and justifies prompt 
and severe measures ; but private pique should never ap- 
pear in the dispensation of justice. Notwithstanding 
those notorious defects in his administratipn^ he succeed- 
ed so far in awing the turbulent, and replenishing the 
treasury, that his majesty, as a farther proof of his royal 
approbation, created him earl of Strafford, and knight 
of the garter. 

By the same means that he gained the favour of his 
sovereign, he lost all confidence with the people; who 
regarded him as their most inveterate enemy, and sin- 
gled him out as the first victim of their vengeance. 

Immediately after the opening of the long parliament 
in 1640, his implacable enemy, Pym, having haran- 
gued the house in a long and eloquent speech on the 
grievances of the nation, and finding that he had inflamv 
ed his auditors to a proper pitch, concluded by branding 
the earl of Strafford with the most odious appellations % 
representing him as the most inveterate foe to the liber- 
ties of his country, and the greatest promoter of tyranny 
that any age had produced. The house being fired 
with the most indignant emotions, a motion was sud- 
denly made, and carried, " that the earl of Strafford be 
immediately impeached of high treason ; and that Mr« 
Pym do carry up the said impeachment to the lords." 

Accordingly Pym appeared at the bar of the house 
of lords, and having impeached him in the name of all 
the commons of England, requested that he might be 
sequestered from alLcouncils, and put into safe custody. 
The earl, being then in England, had that very day 

taken 



EARL OP STRAFFORD. 18Q 

taken his seat in the house. Some friends had given him 
warning that it was in contemplation to attack him, and 
persuaded him to absent himself; but Strafford, spurning 
at advice which might expose him to the imputation 
of pusillanimity, or perhaps thinking himself secure in 
royal protection, appeared in his place, and immediatelv 
upon his impeachment was committed to the custody of 
the black-rod, and seme days after lodged in the Tower. 
So sudden was the transition of this ill fated nobleman 
from the height of power to the miseries of confinement, 
that reflection cannot help moralizing on his fate; and 
whatever may have been his errors or his crimes, from 
this moment he became respecTable in the eyes of every 
person who can honour true magnanimity and patient 
resignation. 

Twenty-eight articles were prepared and exhibited 
against him, chiefly relative to his conduct as president 
of the council in the north, as governor of Ireland, and 
as counsellor and commander in England. Some of 
these were frivolous, and others vexatious j on them he 
might have been convicted of very serious misdemeanors, 
but with all the ingenuity of malice, it seems impossi- 
ble to have done more. His accusers, therefore, after a 
protracted trial of eighteen days, during which the earl 
was collected and firm to an astonishing degree, finding 
that they could not legally substantiate the charges 
against him, dropt this mode of procedure, and brought 
in a bill of attainder. Accordingly it was voted on the 
evidence which had been produced, " that the earl of 
Strafford had endeavoured to subvert the fundamental 
laws -of the kingdom, and introduce an arbitrary and 
tyrannical government into the realms of England and 
Ireland," and as a consequence of those positions, " that 
he was guilty of high treason." 

A few days after, this bill passed the commons by a 
great majority; but being carried to the house of peers, 

the 



1 Q0 EAKL OF STRAFFORD* 

the popular party, alarmed lest they should be defeated 
in their meditated vengeance, by the moderation or jus- 
tice of that assembly, procured petitions, from 43,000 
inhabitants of London, urging the execution of justice 
on the earl of Strafford, and setting forth certain real' 
or fancied fears and suspicions of attempts against the 
independence of parliament. 

The king, on the other hand, anxious to save one of 
his most devoted servants, breaking through those'forms 
which the constitution has wisely established against 
the executive interfering with the legislative power, ap- 
peared in parliament, and made an energetic and feeling 
speech in favour of the earl ; conjuring them not to pro- 
ceed to the last extremities with the accused, as he 
could not, in conscience, think him guilty of treason, 
but only of misdemeanours, for which his majesty allow- 
ed that he ought to be dismissed from his councils and 
service for ever. 

This moderate, though irregular appeal by the king 
to the national representation, it might have been sup- 
posed would not have been in vain ; but so jealous had 
the commons become of the exercise of prerogative, that 
they would scarcely allow Charles, without suspicion, 
the feelings of a man. The interference was taken in 
the very worst sense, and was made use of as a handle 
to hasten the catastrophe. Indeed, when some of the 
sanguine, but weak, friends of Strafford ran with joy to 
inform him how warmly the king had pleaded his cause, 
the earl, more penetrating and sagacious, saw that his 
doom was sealed, and that he had nothing else to do but ' 
to prepare for death. 

The lords, however, seem to have proceeded with 
great deliberation in passing the bill of attainder ; but 
the house was incessantly surrounded with mobs in hos- 
tile array, who were clamorous for justice, while every 
avenue of the royal palace echoed with the sound. 

la 



EARL OF STRAFFORD. 1 Ql 

In this dilemma, decision became an imperious duty; 
ana in order to allay the popular ferment, both houses 
were obliged to sign a protestation, the purport of which 
was, that each individual would exert himself to the ut- 

>most to defend the established religion, and the privi- 
leges of parliament; and should likewise do all in his 
power to bring. to condign punishment all who, by force 
or conspiracy, plotted against either. With this the 
populace were satisfied, and quietly dispersed. 

The Irish no sooner discovered that a man whose 
government had been so obnoxious to them was under 
trial, than they sent a deputation to both houses, to re- 
present their own grounds of complaint; by which the 
charges brought against Strafford in England were par- 
tially substantiated, and his condemnation was rendered 
certain. 

So vigilant, indeed, were the commons, so apprehen- 
sive that the accused might be fraudulently delivered out 

* of their hands, or have any possibility of escaping, that 
they petitioned to have the guards at the Tower strength- 
ened ; and when it was rumoured that the military 
power in that fortress was about to be committed to a 
sworn friend of Strafford's, they remonstrated against 
the appointment, and the king was obliged to withdraw 
the order. 

Secure in this respecl, they meditated schemes still 
more destructive of the constitution ; and, as it often 
happens v in public and private contentions, the aggrieved 
became the aggressor. Charles had been loudly cen- 
sured for betraying an inclination to extend the preroga- 
tive ; but the commons now took a step which vio- 
lated all constitutional authority. Foreseeing ^ that in 
the last extremity the king might dissolve the parlia- 
ment, and by this means elude their vengeance against 
Strafford, they declared their sitting permanent, at least 
till both houses should concur in a dissolution. 

The 



1Q1* EARL OF STRAFFORD. 

The matter was now brought to a crisis. Charles 
immediately summoned his privy council ; and the pre- 
vailing advice was, to satisfy the wishes of his people, 
alledging, with great appearance of truth, that the life 
of one man was not to be balanced with the tranquillity 
and safety of the kingdom. The conscientious, though 
infatuated king, still felt all the anguish of regret at the 
idea of being obliged to pass sentence on a man whom 
he esteemed as one of his most faithful servants, and 
who was suffering only in his cause. He was irresolute, 
and distracted by contending principles. 

Strafford, apprised of his royal master's distress, with 
a sense of duty and attachment of which we have few 
examples, wrote a most pathetic letter to the king, con- 
juring him to pass the bill which was to remove him 
from the stage of life ; in hopes that this measure would 
for ever establish harmony between the sovereign and 
his people ; adding, " that his consent would more ac- 
quit his majesty to God than all the world cci?ld do 
besides." " To a willing man," said* he> " there can 
be no injury 'done." 

After passing two days and nights in a state of per- 
plexity not to be described, harassed by his parliament, 
beset by his people, and counselled by his cabinet to 
submit, Charles at last signed the fatal warrant for ex- 
ecution, and, by this act, paved the way for his own 
downfal. 

On the 12th of May, 1641, the earl of Strafford was 
brought to the scaffold en Tower-hill : he ascended it 
with the most perfect resolution and composure, and 
took an affectionate farewel of his sorrowing relations 
and friends. To his brother, who was weeping exces- 
sively, he thus addressed himself with a cheerful coun- 
tenance : — " What do you see in me to deserve these 
tears ? Does any indecent f ar betray in me a guilt, or 
my innocent boldness any atheism i Think now you 

are 



EARL OF ST tt AFFORD. IQ3 

are accompanying me the third time to my marriage- 
bed. Never did I throw off my clothes with greater 
freedom and content, than in this preparation to my 
grave. That stock, " pointing to the block, " must be 
my pillow ; here shall I rest from all my labours : no 
thoughts of envy, no dreams of treason, no jealousies 
nor cares for the king, the state, or myself, shall in- 
terrupt this easy sleep. Therefore, brother, with me 
pity those, who, contrary to their intentions, have made 
me happy. Rejoice in my felicity, rejoice in my in- 
nocence." 

Then kneeling down, he made the following ani. 
mated protestation : — " I hope, v gentlemen, you will not 
think that either the fear of loss of life^or the love of 
reputation, will suffer me to belie my God, and my own 
conscience, at such a moment. I am now in the very 
door going out, and my next step~ will be from, time to 
eternity, either o£ peace or pain., To clear myself be- 
fore you all, I do here solemnly call God to witness, I 
am not guilty, so faf as I can understands^ the great 
crime laid to my charge ; nor have I ever had the. least 
inclination or intention to damnify or prejudice the king, 
the state, the laws, or the religion of this kingdom ; but 
with my best endeavours to serve all, and to support 
all ; so may God be merciful to my soul !" 

Then rising up, he expressed his desire of addressing 
the people ; and a profound silence ensuing, he made 
an animated and pathetic harangue, in which he excul- 
pated himself of every principal charge that had been 
alledged against him, professed the rectitude of his 
heart, and his attachment to his royal master and the 
constitution in church and state ; declared his forgive- 
ness of all his enemies ; and concluded with requesting 
the pardon of all whom he had offended by word or 
deed. 

Having finished, he saluted the friends who attended 
I him 



1Q& EARL OF STRAFFORD. 

him on the scaffold, desiring their "prayers, and witlfthe 
utmost devotion addressed himself to the Majesty of 
heaven for nearly half an hour, concluding with the 
Lord's Prayer. 

After this he sent his last benediction to his family in 
terms of the warmest affection ; and, preparing himself 
for the block, laid down his head with surprising forti- 
tude and calmness, and at one blow he was no more. 

Notwithstanding the dignified manner in which the 
earl of Strafford had conducted himself in this last 
scene, no tears from the people attended his death. On 
the contrary, his execution w r as regarded as a matter of 
triumph ; and numbers who had flocked to see it, re- 
turned into the country, waving their hats in all the ex- 
ultation of barbarous joy. 

The abilities of Strafford were far above mediocrity, 
and his eloquence 'was very considerable. In point of 
personal courage, and those accomplishments which 
befit the gentleman, he deserved high praise ; but at 
the same time it must be confessed that he was inordi- 
nately ambitious^ arrogant, and passionate. In his man- 
ner of living he practised habitual temperance ; and 
his application to business was extreme. In private 
life he is represented as a warm and generous, friend ; 
and, had he lived in a more tranquil age, \>r performed 
in a less public theatre, he might have descended to a 
•peaceful grave, riot only without censure, but w T ith ap- 
plause. 

After the restoration, the bill of attainder was re- 
versed as a stigma on the national justice, and his son 
inherited his titles and estates. 



JOHN 



( 19* ) 
JOHN H A M P D E N. 

Born 1594— Died 1613. 
From 36/4 Elizabeth lo \Sth Charles J. 

TO appreciate the real merits of political men from 
the history of our own times, is one of the most 
difficult tasks that. the biographer can undertake. The 
best intention is too often sullied by the event ; and pre- 
judice, or partiality, sees with distorted optics the con- 
catenation of causes which lead to an important catas- 
trophe. But an impartial posterity removes the glare 
of false colouring, and estimates character from its ob- 
vious tendency to good or evil, its innate propensity to 
virtue or vice. 

While the long-exploded doctrines of passive obedi- 
ence and non-resistance were in vogue, Hampden was 
pourtrayed as the Catiline of his age : but no sooner 
did constitutional liberty assume its proper form, and 
the interest and the glory of the sovereign become in- 
timately and indissolubly united with those of the' 
people, than he was regarded as the champion of his 
country's rights, and a martyr for her independence. 

John Hampden was descended from a long line of 
ancestors, settled at Great Hampden, in Buckingham- 
shire, and by the 'maternal side, was nearly related to 
Oliver Cromwell. % London claims the honour of his 
birth ; but this unimportant point rests only on tradi- 
tion, and indeed a dark veil is thrown over his early 
years. We find no traces of the future patriot in his 
juvenile days, no indications of the character which he 
was about to assume, or the part which he was des- 
tined to perform. Anions are frequently the result of 
1 2 fortuitous 



ig6 JOHN HAMPDEN. 

fortuitous circumstances, and talents are elicited by the 
pressure of the moment. Had Hampden been born 
at any other period, or met with less urgent occasions 
for a display of his patriotism, it is probable that his 
name might now have been unknown to fame. Thou- 
sands are carried down the stream of oblivion, without 
ever having an opportunity of disclosing their virtues 
or their vices ; and join their kindred dust, unnoticed 
and unregarded. 

Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid 

Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire ; 

Hands, that the rod of empire might have swayM, 
Or wak'd'to extasy the living lyre. 

Full many a gem of purest ray, serene, 
The dark unfathomYl caves of ocean bear; 

Full many a flow'r is born to blush unseen, 
And waste its sweetness on the desart air. 

Some village Hampden, that with dauntless breast 

The little tyrant of his fields withstood: 
Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest; 

Some Cromwell, guiltless of his country's blood. 

Gray's Elegy. 

About the fifteenth year of his age, he was admitted 
a gentleman commoner of Magdalen college, Oxford ; 
whence he removed, without taking any degree, to the 
inns of court.- His progress in the study of the laws 
appears to have been considerable, and he might have 
made a distinguished figure at the bar, had not the 
death of his father early put him into possession of a 
splendid fortune. 

In the bosom of affluence, without a check on his 
youthful passion, it is said that he gave way to the na- 
tural consequences of such a situation, and ran into 
the usual dissipations of young men of fortune ; but 
without that degradation of character and probity which 
some incur. His ; sense and his reason soon recalled 

him 



JOHN HAMPDEN. 107 

him from every excess, and he began to associate with 
persons of more austere and correct manners ; while his 
natural vivacity of temper and disposition remained the 
same. 

Though undeviating wisdom may net always attend 
the young, in every sensible mind there is a germ of re- 
flection ; and happy is it for those who early arrive at 
the stationary point of moderation. Hampden's views 
seem to have expanded with his change of manners ; 
and he qualified himself in the shade for the public part 
which he was afterwards called to perform. 

Having married a lady of considerable fortune and 
connections, he was returned to parliament in 1626 ; and 
espousing the popular cause, he was strenuous in pro- 
moting- an inquiry into the national grievances. His 
shrewdness and talents for oratory recommended him 
to the leading men of his party, and his resolution soon 
made him conspicuous. He protested against levying 
the duties of tonnage and poundage with peculiar vehe- 
mence ; an3 was taken into custody for refusing to ad- 
vance money on loans, not sanctioned 'by the voice of 
parliament. 

The applause which this conduct gained him from 
the people, fixed his principles ; for it appears to have 
been the character of Hampden to advance with caution, 
but never to recede with wavering steps. It was not, 
however, till 1636, that his energy and fortitude distin- 
guished him from the rest of his compatriots. At that 
time, when arbitrary power was making continual en- 
croachments on the liberty of the subject, and had al- 
most reached its acme of violence, Charles, by one 
stroke of impolicy, committed himself with an indivi- 
dual, and eventually with the nation. Hampden had 
been assessed the small sum of twenty shillings, in aid 
of what was called ship-money ; which was attempted to 
be raised by a writ under the great seal, without the 
I 3 concurrence 



10/} JOHN HAMPDEN. 

concurrence of parliament. He singly resisted this 1 Il- 
legal exaction, unawed by authority, undaunted by me- 
naces, unabashed by calumny, and incorruptible by 
bribes. The cause was brought to trial in the court of 
exchequer, and solemnly argued by the collective abili- 
ties of the bar for twelve days successively ; but, as 
might naturally be expected, judgment went against 
him. According to. Clarendon, however, who was 
none of his panegyrists, he conducted himself in this 
grand trial with -such temper and modesty, that he ac- 
tually obtained more credit by losing it, than the king 
did himself service by gaining it. What had been hi- 
therto yielded out of affection, was now paid with mur- 
muring reluctance ; and the eyes of all men were turned 
on Hampden, as the pilot, who was to conduct them 
through the storm ; the champion who was to contend 
for the legal rights of all. 

His popularity now became so great, that he was re- 
garded as the father of his country, and the intrepid as- 
sertor of its liberties. He received the glorious appel- 
lation of the Patriot Hampden, and this title he never 
forfeited. He watched every measure of the court with 
jealous circumspection, and defeated every attempt 
against civil liberty, with a prudence that entitled him 
to- respect even from his opponents, .and with a zeal that 
nothing could withstand. The depositary of the national 
confidence, he held his trust us most sacred ; yet he ap- 
pears to have been actuated by no motives of personal 
hostility to his sovereign, by no views of aggrandize- 
ment for himself. 

If he resisted arbitrary power,, it was to save the con- 
stitution inviolate ; and, on the meeting of the long par- 
liament in 1640, his power and interest to do good or 
harm., in the opinion of lord Clarendon, were greater 
than any man's in the kingdom, or than any man of his 
rank possessed at any time. His reputation for honesty 

was 



JOHN HAMPDEN. lf)() 

was universal, and he appeared to be guided by such 
public principles, that no private or sinister ends could 
give them an improper bias. 

Having taken an active part in the prosecution of 
Strafford and Laud, and those obnoxious persons hav- 
ing been removed, it is said that Hampden, unwilling 
to proceed to farther extremities, projected a coalition 
of parties, and aspired to none of the splendid and lu- 
crative offices of the state for himself, but merely to the 
appointment of being tutor to the Prince of Wales. 
Sensible that the misfortunes of the nation arose from 
the mistaken principles of the sovereign, anxious to cor- 
rect rather than to overthrow the constitution, he ration- 
ally concluded, that he could not perform a more essen- 
tial service to his country, than by forming the prince's 
mind to legitimate sentiments of government. At first 
it appears that Charles listened to overtures of accom- 
modation^but, .prompted by his evil genius, he retracted 
his concessions ; and this apparent want of sincerity de- 
termined the part that Hampden was to act. 

The parliament now saw there was no alternative but 
implicit submission or open resistance, and the scene 
began to unfold which gradually deluged the country- 
in blood, and opened the flood-gates of anarchy. As 
Charles levied forces by his prerogative, the parlia- 
ment, foreseeing against whom their operation was to 
be directed, raised an army for the defence of the state, 
and Hampden accepted the command of a regiment of 
foot. 

As he had been instrumental in bringing matters to 
this crisis, so he was one of the first that commenced the 
civil war. The king had placed a garrison at Brill, in 
Buckinghamshire, a few miles from Oxford; the situa- 
tion of which gave it a considerable command. This . 
station Hampden attacked, and displayed the same cou- 
rage in the held as eloquence in the senate, But his 

I 4 ; military 



200 JOHN HAMPDEN, 

military career was of short duration: he was. soon after 
mortally wounded in a skirmish with prince Rupert in 
Chalgrove-field, near Thame, in Oxfordshire ; and, after 
languishing six days, died, to the unspeakable regret 
and consternation of his party. It seems his incautious 
bravery precipitated his fate; and the royalists exulted 
in his death, as if die business had been settled, and con- 
sidered it as a just judgment on the most active partisan 
of rebellion. Yet it is believed that the king, when he 
heard of his lamentable situation, sent his own physician 
to attend him, as a mark of personal respect ; and if we 
can judge from the antecedent "conduct of the man, this 
favour, had he lived, would have been returned with in- 
terest. His natural disposition, the integrity of his heart, 
and the influence which he had acquired, in all proba- 
bility would have co-operated to save both the king and 
the constitution from final destruction. 

Though he had resisted the encroachments of arbi- 
trary power, he would have bowed to legitimate autho- 
rity ; and had his life been spared, there can scarcely be 
a doubt but he would have opposed the usurpation of 
Cromwell with equal resolution and success. The credit 
which he had gained would have speedily raised him 
to the command of "the army; and, as he was never 
known to exercise authority but for what he regarded 
as the public good, it may charitably be presumed that 
he would have listened with pleasure to the concessions 
which the unhappy Charles was afterwards induced to 
make. 

v Let the fate, however, of Hampden, and the conse- 
quences which ensued from his opposition, pure as it 
might be, teach the propriety of lenient measures, and 
the extreme danger of engaging in civil conflicts* The. 
first agents in reform may possibly be influenced by the 
most patriotic views ; but, when once popular opposi- 
tion is roused, and the bands of established government 

are 



JOHN HAMPDEN. 20l 

are loosened, the power may soon be wrested from the 
hands which before wielded it, and men of the most cor- 
rupt principles usurp the reins. Then flows in all the 
tide of misery which the virtuous seek to avoid, but the 
impetuosity of which they are unable to restrain. The 
history of all ages and of all nations confirms this incon- 
trovertible maxim, " that violence may demolish, but 
cannot repair; and that every melioration of the consti- 
tution of a country must be effectuated by gradual and 
almost imperceptible means, in order to render it salu- 
tary and permanent." 

The character of a man who stands so prominent on 
the historic canvas of the period in which he lived, and 
who may furnish both an incentive and a warning to 
future patriots, ought not to be dismissed without fur- 
ther notice. We shall not, however, attempt to draw a 
new character. The dark side has been forcibly deli- 
neated by the noble historian of the civil wars ; the 
bright, by the celebrated Mrs. Macaulay. As a proof of 
impartiality, we subjoin both ; nor can either be read 
without advantage. 

" He was/' says lord Clarendon, " a man of much 
greater cunning, and it may be, of the most discerning 
spirit, and of the greatest address and insinuation to 
bring any thing to pass which he desired, of any man of 
that time, and w T ho laid the design deepest. He was of 
that rare affability and temper in debate, and of that 
seeming humility and submission of judgment, as if he 
brought no opinion of his own with him, but a desire 
of information and instruction : yet he had so subtle a 
way, and under the notion of doubts insinuating his ob- 
jections, that he infused his own opinions into those from 
whom he pretended to learn and receive them. And 
even with them who were able to preserve themselves 
from his infusions, and discerned those opinions to be 
fixed in him with which they could not comply, he al- 
1 5 ways 



202 JOHN HAMPDEN. 

ways left the character of an ingenuous and conscien- 
tious person. He was, indeed, a very wise man, and of 
great parts, and possessed with the most absolute spirit 
of popularity, and the most absolute faculties to govern 
the people, of any man I ever knew. For the first year 
of the parliament, he seemed rather to moderate and 
soften the violent and distempered humours, than to 
inflame them. But wise and dispassionate men plainly ' 
discerned that that moderation proceeded from pru- 
dence and observation that the season was not ripe, ra- 
ther than that he approved of the moderation ; and that 
he begot many opinions and notions, the education 
"whereof he committed to other men ; so far disguising 
liis own designs, tl)at he seemed seldom to wish more 
than was concluded. And in many gross conclusions, 
which would hereafter contribute to designs not yet set 
on foot, when he found them sufficiently backed by a 
majority of voices, /he would withdraw himself before 
the question, that he might seem not to consent to so 
much visible unreasonableness^ which produced as great 
a doubt in some, as it did approbation in others, of his 
integrity. After he was among those members accused 
by the king of high treason, he was much altered ; his 
nature and carriage seeming much fiercer than it did 
before : and without question, when he first drew his 
sword, he threw away the scabbard. He was very tem- 
perate in diet, and a supreme governor over all his pas- 
sions and affections ; and had thereby a great power 
over other men's. He was of an industry and vigilance 
not to be tired out or wearied by the most laborious ; 
^and of parts not to be imposed upon by the most subtle 
and sharp ; and of a personal courage equal to his best 
parts : so that he was an enemy not to be wished, where* 
ever he might have been made a friend ^ and as much 
to be apprehended where he was so, as any man could 
deserve to be. And therefore his death was no less 

pleasing 



JOHN HAMPDEN. 203 

pleasing to the one party, than it was condoled in the 
other. In a word, what was said of China might well 
be applied to him : he had a head to contrive, a tongue 
to persuade, and a hand to execute any mischief; or, as 
the historian says elsewhere, " any good." 

" Clarendon," remarks Mrs. Macaulay, " has pretend- 
ed to draw the exact portraiture of this eminent, person- 
age ; but, though marked with those partial lines which 
distinguish the hand of the historian, it is the testimony 
of an enemy to virtues possessed only by the foremost 
rank of men. With all the talents and virtues which 
render private life useful, amiable, and respectable, were 
united in Hampden, in the highest degree, those excel- 
lencies which guide the jarring opinions of popular 
counsels to determined points; and, whilst he penetrated 
into the most secret designs of other men, he never dis- 
covered more of his own inclinations than was necessary 
to the purpose in hand. I n debate he was so much a 
master, that, joining the art of Socrates with the graces 
of Cicero, he fixed his own opinion under the modest 
guise of desiring to improve by that of others ; and, 
contrary to the nature of disputes, left a pleasing im- 
pression, which prejudiced his antagonist in his favour, 
even when he had not- convinced or altered his judg- 
ment. His carriage was so generally, uniformly, and 
unaffectedly affable ; his conversation so enlivened by 
his vivacity, so seasoned by his knowledge and under- 
standing, and so well applied to the genius, humour, 
and prejudices of those he~conversed with, that his ta- 
lents to .gain popularity were absolute. With qualities 
of this high nature, he possessed in council penetration 
and discernment, with a sagacity on which no one coukt 
impose, an industry and vigilance which were indefati- 
gable, with the entire mastery of his passions and affec- 
tions ; an advantage which gave him infinite superiority 
over less regulated minds. It was him the party relied 
16 on 



204 BR. WILLTAM HARVEY. 

on to animate the cold councils of their general ; it was 
his example and influence they trusted to keep him ho- 
nest to the interest of the public ; and to preserve to the 
parliament the affeftions of the army. Had he been at 
first appointed to the supreme military command, the 
civil war, under all the horrors of which the country 
languished more than three years, would have been but 
of a short continuance." 



DR. WILLIAM HARVEY. 

Born 1578— Died 1657. 
From 20th Elizabeth to 8th Charles IL 

IN every walk of life, and in every profession, Britain 
has reason to be proud of her sons. The healing 
art, in particular, has not only been carried to a very 
great degree of practical perfection by some of our illus- 
trious countrymen, but many of the most valuable and 
salutary discoveries in physiology and anatomy exclu- 
sively belong to them. No medical author, however, 
has gained more glory than Harvey. ' His investiga- 
tions led to the most important ends, and tend to the 
benefit of all mankind to the latest posterity. They 
throw a lustre on his profession and his name, which 
envy carihot tarnish or malevolence conceal. 

This celebrated physician was the eldest son of a gen- 
teel family, settled at Folkstone, in Kent. When he had 
reached his tenth year, he was sent to the grammar- 
school at Canterbury, where being well embued-with 
classical learning, he was removed at an early age to 
Gonvil and Caius college, Cambridge. In this univer- 
sity he diligently applied to such studies as were funda- 
mentally 



DR. WILLIAM HARVEY. 205 

mentally connected with medicine ; and, after six years 
spent on the banks of Cam, he commenced his foreign 
travels, with a view solely to proficiency in his destined 
profession. Retiring to Padua in Italy, he attended the 
lectures of the famous Fabricius of Aquapendente, on 
anatomy; of Minodaus, on pharmacy; and of Casse- 
rius, on surgery. Under such distinguished masters, 
with a mind naturally inquisitive, and wholly devoted 
to medical studies and researches, his progress must 
have been rapid ; but whether he had yet conceived the 
idea which led to his future fame, is a fact that cannot 
now be unveiled. He stayed to graduate in that uni- 
versity; and, at the age of twenty-four, returned to his 
native land. 

Being immediately admitted to the degree of doctor 
in physic at Cambridge, he settled in London, and en- 
tered on the practice of his profession. By gradual ad- 
vances he rose to considerable eminence ; was chosen a 
fellow of the college of physicians, and appointed phy- 
sician to St. Bartholomew's hospital. 

In 1615, he was chosen by the college to read an ana- 
tomical and chirurgical lecture; and it is probable that 
this gave him the first opportunity of disclosing his sen- 
timents respecting the peculiar structure of the heart, 
and the circulation of the blood. Jiis ideas on this sub- 
ject he threw out with caution, and gradually developed. 
the important principles to which they led ; but when 
he had thoroughly canvassed his own hypothesis, forti- 
fied it by arguments, and confirmed it by reiterated ex- 
periments, he published, at Frankfort, a Latin treatise, 
concerning " the Motion of the Heart and Blood.'' This 
work, in the opinion of the best judges, is a master-piece 
of perspicuity in arrangement, and of nervous reason- 
ing ; nor was its literary merit inferior to the sublime 
doctrines which it was intended to establish. 

But though Harvey's discovery was of the last im- 
portance 



206 DR. WILLIAM HAKVEY. 

portance in the healing art, and deserved the candid 
reception, if not the high approbation of all, he met 
with that fate which superior merit must not hope to 
escape. He was envied by those who could not com- 
prehend the value of his doctrine ; he was traduced by 
the dull plodders in the trammels of established preju- 
dices, who could not reach his heights. His own pro- 
fession in particular for some time regarded his opinions 
as heretical, or dangerous ; and, if they were not able to 
confute him, they raised a war of words, in which argu- 
ment was lost, and truth and reason were treated as the 
worst of foes. It appears from a letter of Harvey to 
one of his friends, that in proportion as he deserved re- 
putation, his practice as a physician diminished ; and 
that the most ignoble arts were used to depress a man 
whom obloquy could not depreciate, and whose applause 
was one day to become universal through the world. 

Even foreign physicians entered warmly into the con- 
troversy^ and either attacked the truth of his hypothesis, 
or denied him the praise of originality. It is thus in 
every branch of science, and in every great and merito- 
rious performance. Those who have benefited . or en- 
lightened mankind, have too frequently been made the 
victims of their virtues or their knowledge; and envy, 
which cannot endure to behold living worth, has relent- 
ed only at the grave. 

But Harvey, though he suffered from the storm, had 
the singular felicity to outlive its fury, and to see the 
world pressing forward to pay him the homage due to 
an original genius, and a benefactor of his kind. The 
more his system was criticised, the more its validity was 
established; and like gold which had been tried, it came 
brighter out of the furnace. By degrees the circulation 
of the blood was generally received ; and men began to 
wonder why such a palpable truth had so long been un- 
discovered and so long opposed* 

la 



DR. WILLIAM HARVEY. 20? 

In 1623, king James appointed Dr. Harvey a super- 
numerary physician in ordinary, with a promise he 
should succeed on the first vacancy. He was afterwards 
made physician to Charles I. and attended his majesty 
at the battle of Edge-hill, and from thence to Oxford, 
where he was incorporated doctor in physic. Soon after, 
by the king's particular recommendation, he was elect- 
ed warden of Merten college, in that university ; but 
the power of the parliament prevailing, he was obliged 
to relinquish this dignity, and retired to the vicinity of 
London. 

In 1651, he published a very valuable book on the 
generation of animals; but, being obnoxious to the do- 
mineering party for his adherence to Charles, his house 
was plundered of all the furniture, and all his manu- 
scripts carried off, and irrecoverably lost. 

Next year, however, having lived to silence envy, and 
to make opposition ashamed of shewing its face, a statue 
was erected to his honour by the college of physicians; 
and two years after he was chosen president of that body, 
in his absence. This distinction he declined with due 
acknowledgments, on account of his age and increasing 
infirmities; but, as a testimony of his gratitude, having 1 
no children, he made the college his heirs, and settled 
his -whole paternal estate upon them. He had previ- 
ously built a room for them to assemble in, and fitted up 
a library ; and now he instituted an annual commemo- 
ration of benefactors, with a proper salary; and attended 
the first, in person. The Harveian oration still conti-. 
nues to be delivered ; and the aspiring and ingenious 
physician who is appointed to pronounce it, has thus an 
honourable opportunity of shewing his taste, his learn- 
ing, his skill, or his discoveries, before the most compe- 
tent judges of his art. 

During die latter part of his life, Harvey became a 

martyr 



208 ADMIRAL BLAKE. 

martyr to the gout; and resigned his breath with gene- 
ral admiration and regret, on the 3d of June, 1657. He 
was buried at Hempstead, in Essex, where a monument 
was ere&ed to his memory. 

Besides an eminent skill in every branch of science 
more immediately connected with his profession, he was 
well versed in general literature. He was laboriously 
studious, regular, and virtuous in his life ; and not only 
an excellent physician, but an excellent man. His 
modesty, his candour, and his piety, were equal to his 
knowledge ; and the more he penetrated into the won- 
ders of nature, the more he was inclined to adore its di- 
vine author. With regard to his grand discovery, the 
circulation of the blood, it was soon confessed to be 
founded on the solid basis of reason and experience, and 
can never be controverted more. Of what consequence 
it was in the art of medicine, may be inferred from this, 
that it is, perhaps, impossible to define health and sick- 
ness in fewer words, than " by styling the former a free 
and the latter an obstructed circulation.' 5 



ADMIRAL BLAKE. 

Born 1599— Died 1659. 
From 41st Elizabeth to 10M Charles II • 

NEVER- was our national glory greater among fo- 
reigners than during the usurpation of Cromwell, 
and never was it more disgraced at home. Fanaticism 
and imposture pervaded all ranks ; the great mass of 
the people became the dupes of a few factious leaders; 
and the deep dissimulation of the proce&or rendered hy- 
pocrisy 



ADMIRAL BLAKE. 20Q 

pocrisy fashionable, even among those who had sense 
enough to laugh at the silly tricks which were played 
to gain popularity. 

But as far as external relations were concerned, Crom- 
well assumed an absolute tone, and spake without dis- 
guise. He felt for his country's honour: he inspired 
his commanders with a portion of his own resolution 
and decisive conduct, and sent them to conquer or to 
die c Awed by no rank, and proof against all intrigues, 
he dictated to other courts, rather than negotiated: 
while the force of his genius and the superiority of his 
arms were confessed by nations which durst not brave 
his power, nor insult his usurped authority. 

Among the heroes whom the enthusiasm of the times 
awakened into life and action, Admiral Blake has made 
his name immortal. High as our naval reputation had 
stood at antecedent periods, he exalted it many degrees 
by his conduct and intrepidity; nor can the brilliancy 
of his achievements be eclipsed, or, indeed, scarcely ri- 
valled, by the greatest drsplays of courage and prowess 
that later times have witnessed. 

Robert Blake was a native of Bridgewater, in Somer- 
setshire, and was initiated in classical learning at the 
grammar-school of that town. His father was a mer- 
chant; but what was the original destination of the son 
cannot now be known. It is certain that he was sent 
to the university of Oxford, where he first studied at 
Alban-hall, and afterwards at Wadbam-college. In 
1617, he was admitted to the degree of bachelor of arts ; 
but we have no farther account of his progress or his 
views, till six years after, when he composed some verses 
on the death of Camden the antiquary, and soon after 
quitted the university. 

Early tinctured with republican sentiments, and pre- 
judiced against the hierarchy, from the severity of his 
diocesan, Laud, who pressed uniformity with impolitic 

zeal, 



$10 ADMIRAL BLAKE. 

zeal, Blake began to adopt puritanical principles; and, 
by the ingenuous bluntness of his manner, soon recom- 
mended himself to that party, who procured his return 
to parliament for his native ..borough, in 1640. 

Elected under such auspices, the line of conduct which 
he had to pursue was obvious. On the commencement 
of the civil war, he declared for the parliament; but we 
have no evidence of his distinction either in the senate, 
or the field, for some time. He seems at first to have 
been considered rather as an honest than a great man. 
The period had not yet arrived which was to develope 
his natural energies; and he might be said to resemble 
the useless gold in the mine, which requires a proper 
stamp to give it currency. 

It was not long, however, that he remained under the 
cloud of obscurity } but the first display of his talents 
was in the military, not the naval line. Having the 
command of a small fort at Bristol, in 1643, under 
colonel Fiennes, who occupied the city, after prince Ru- 
pert had carried the place by capitulation, Blake con- 
tinued to defend the connected post, and killed some of 
the royalists. This exasperated the prince to such a de- 
gree, that he threatened to hang him ; and was only di- 
verted from his intention by perceiving the palpable 
ignorance of Blake in the laws of war. 

Escaping this danger, he afterwards served m Somer- 
setshire, and being generally beloved, he was very in- 
strumental in supporting the cause of parliament. By 
means of the good intelligence which he was able to 
procure, he surprized Taunton, in conjunction with 
Sir Robert Pye, and was soon after appointed governor 
of that placeythen one of the most important garrisons 
in the west. 

In this situation his talents and resolution soon became 
eminently conspicuous. The strictness of his discipline, 
and the endearing manner in which he conducted him- 

* self 



ADMIRAL BLAKE. 211 

self towards the townsmen, enabled him to hold out a 
long time against the royal forces ; and when a breach 
was at last effected, and Goring got possession of a part 
of the town, Blake held out the castle and its environs, 
with unshaken bravery and perseverance, till relief ar- 
rived. .For this important service, he was handsomely 
remunerated by Parliament; and was now considered 
as a man qualified for hazardous enterprizes, and trusts 
of still greater responsibility. 

However, his adherence to the popular side had not 
obliterated his sense of right and wrong. He declared 
against the legality of Charles's trial; and frequently 
professed, that he would as freely venture his life to save 
the king's, as ever he had done to serve the parliament. 
Whether this arose from the natural humanity of his dis- 
position, or a reverence for royalty, is doubtful. His 
subsequent conduct, however, inclines us to believe, that 
the former was the cause of his compunction ; for after 
the king's death, he wholly fell in with the republican 
party; and, next to Cromwell, was justly considered as 
the ablest officer in the service. 

Blake had hitherto signalized himself only by land, 
but his destiny led him to triumph on a new element. 
In 16-1-9, he was appointed to command the fleet in con- 
junction with Deane and Popham; and, sailing for Ire- 
land, blocked up prince Rupert in Kinsale harbour. 
That gallant officer despairing of relief by sea, and find* 
ifig Cromwell ready to possess the town by land, 
: the desperate resolution of forcing his way through 
Blake's squadron, which he effected with the loss of 
three ships. 

Trie royal fleet steered for Lisbon, where it was pro- 
tected by the king of Portugal ; but Blake soon after 
coming up, on attempting to enter the port, was fired 
upon from the castle. Immediately droppjpg anchor, 

he 



212 ADMIRAL BLAKE. 

he sent to enquire the cause of their hostility; but not 
receiving a satisfactory answer, he boldly sailed up the 
river within two miles of Prince Rupert's fleet, and again 
solicited permission to attack it. This being refused, 
Blake took five richly-laden Brazil ships, and made his 
Portuguese majesty acquainted, that unless he ordered 
prince Rupert to depart, he would seize on the remain- 
der of the fleet from America. 

Some time after, the prince endeavouring to escape, 
was driven back by Blake, who now captured the Portu- 
guese ships without mercy, and dispatched several of 
them to England. In October, 1650, he fell in with a 
fleet of twenty-three sail from Brazil, of which he sunk 
the admiral, and took the vice-admiral, with eleven ships 
richly laden. 

Resolving now to return home with his booty, or per- 
haps wirhdrawing'from Lisbon thatprince Rupert might 
be drawn from his retreat, he fell in with two French 
men-of-war which were in search of the English royal 
fleet, and captured one of them, reported to be worth a 
million sterling, which he sent into Calais. 

By this time prince Rupert had got into Carthagensu 
Blake, being apprized of this, hastened thither; and re- 
quested the governor, as the subject of a power in amity 
with the parliament, to permit him to attack his enemy. 
The governor hesitated till he could obtain instructions 
from his court ; and in the mean time prince Rupert 
escaped to Malaga. The vigilant Blake immediately 
came up with him ; and, disdaining to temporize, he 
attacked him in the port, and burnt or destroyed his 
whole fleet, with the exception of only two ships. 

This service achieved, he returned to Plymouth, r&- 
ceived the thanks of the parliament, and was appointed 
warden of the cinque ports. 

In the following summer he reduced the Scilly islands 

which 



ADMIRAL BLAKE. 213 

which had held out for the king; and then, sailing for 
Guernsey, with some difficulty he added that island to 
the state of England. 

Being constituted sole admiral on the breaking out 
of a Dutch war, in which the greatest commanders and 
best equipped ships were engaged, on each side, that 
any age had produced, and in which the dominion of 
the sea was the splendid obj eel: of contest, he fought the 
celebrated Van Tromp with such bravery, though far 
inferior in force, that he compelled him to retreat. This 
action, which was commenced by the Dutch, and in 
which Blake singly bore the brunt for four hours, was 
one of the most severe and desperate in the annals of 
naval history, though indecisive in its consequences. 

The advantage however rested with the English, and 
•the states of Holland seemed inclined for peace, but the 
terms on which it was offered were so exorbitant, that 
hostilities were renewed with fresh vigour. In several 
partial conflicts, Blake obtained fresh laurels, and di- 
minished the strength of the enemy, but the Dutch, 
under their illustrious commander, still came forward 
with fresh armaments ; and the English fleet, being in 
want of provisions, were at length compelled to return 
to its anchorage in the Downs. 

Van Tromp, with fourscore men-of-war, resolved to 
attack Blake in^his situation. The English had not 
above half the number of ships, yet they maintained the 
-action, with undiminished resolution, from two in the 
morning till six in the evening. At last Blake, for the 
first and only time, was obliged to retire from the enemy 
with some loss, and to take shelter in the Thames. N 

The Dutch had also suffered very considerably, but 
so elated was Van Tromp with his success, that he sail- 
ed through the channel with a broom at the masts head, 
to signify that he meant to sweep the sea of the English. 
This exultation was of no long continuance. The Eng- 
lish 



214 • ADMIRAL BLAKE. 

lish admiral being reinforced, attacked him with farinfe- 
- rior numbers; and, though severely wounded, continued 
the engagement till night, and compelled the Dutch to 
retire, with the loss of six ships. Next day the engage- 
ment was renewed, to the fresh discomfiture of Tromp, 
who continued retreating towards Boulogne. Night once 
more suspended the fury of Blake ; but on the third 
morning the contest recommenced, and the Dutch were 
obliged to secure themselves from final ruin, by running 
among the flats of Dunkirk and Calais. In this hard- 
fought battle, which lasted for three successive days the 
Dutch lost eleven ships of war, thirty merchantmen, 
and 1500 sailors. On the part of the English, only one 
ship was lost, hut the lass of men was nearly equal. 
Such a series of victories obtained by one man, not ori- 
Iginally bred to the sea, is almost unparalleled ; and must 
3 convey a very high idea of Blake's superior bravery and 
judgment. Not long after, Cromwell assumed the su- 
preme power, and the Dutch flattered themselves that 
such an usurpation would alienate the affections of the 
English officers, and leave the nation an easy pre^ to 
their attacks. The sentiments of Blake on this occasion 
shew the sense he entertained of his duty, and the im- 
propriety of officers taking upon them a deliberative ca- 
pacity. " It is not for us," said he, " to mind state af- 
fairs, but to keep foreigners from fooling us." This pa- 
triotic maxim is applicable at all times ; and will gene- 
rally be found to actuate the brave, whatever convul- 
sions a government may undergo. 

Towards the end of the month of April, 1653, Blake 
having collected a hundred ships of war, stood over to 
the coast of Holland, and forced the Dutch to take shel- 
ter in the Texel. Here they were blocked up for some 
time; but on the 3d of June an engagement took place," 
which was continued the succeeding day, when the Eng- 
lish obtained a complete victory^ and the whole Dutch 
m 5 fleet 



ADMIRAL BLAKE. 215 

fleet must either have been taken or sunk, had they not 
sought for shelter on the sands of Calais. 

The succeeding autumn, Blake took his seat in par- 
liament, and received the solemn thanks of the house; 
and not long after, he was appointed one of the lords 
of die admiralty. In November, the following year, 
Cromwell dispatched him with a strong fleet into the 
Mediterranean, with the ample commission to protect 
the English flag from every insult. The Algerines, in- 
timidated by his name, sought his amity by every con- 
ciliatory measure ; but the dey of Tunis sent him a 
haughty answer, and defied his power. Blake as was 
customary when in a passion, began to curl his whiskers; 
and after a short consultation with his officers, sailed 
into the bay of Port Ferino, silenced the guns of the 
castle, and then manning his boats, burnt all the ship- 
ping, with a very trivial loss on his own part. 

His name had long been formidable in Europe, but 
now it spread terror over Africa : the piratical states 
courted his forbearance with marks of servility; while 
the Italian princes sent magnificent embassies to con- 
gratulate the protector on the services of Blake to Chris- 
tendom in general. 

The war with Spain by this time waging warm, our 
illustrious commander exerted his utmost efforts to ruin 
their maritime force in Europe-, as Penn had done in 
the West-Indies. But his health was no longer equal 
to the energy of his mind, and he requested an associate 
in the command, which was granted him, in the ap- 
pointment of general Montague to be joint-admiral of 
the fleet. To Blake alone, however, did the nation and 
the navy look up for protection and glory: he was one 
of those highly favoured men whom Fortune, in her 
capricious freaks, never forsook : his most daring at- 
tempts were sanctioned by her smiles, and his fame was 
progressive to the la,st. 

Being 



21 6 ADMIRAL BLAKE, 

Being stationed near the Straits, he alternately an- 
noyed the shipping and the ports of Spain. His activity 
was displayed every where, and his intelligence enabled 
him to seize every probable opportunity of glory or of 
gain. While employed in blocking up the harbour of 
Cadiz, he learned that the Spanish plate-fleet had put^ 
into the bay of Santa Cruz, in the island of Teneriffe. 
Determined to attack it, he sailed thither with twenty- 
five men of war ; and on the 20th of April, 1657, ar- 
rived off the bay, where he saw nineteen stout ships 
disposed in the form of a crescent. Near the mouth of 
the haven stood a castle, furnished with very heavy 
ordnance ; besides which, the whole bay was lined by 
strong forts and a chain of communication preserved 
between each, by files of musqueteers. Every other pre- 
caution was taken by the Spanish admiral, Don Diego 
Diagues, that military experience could devise, although 
rather to prevent a surprise, than in contemplation of an 
open attack. 

The captain of a Dutch ship, however, which then 
lay in the bay, entertained different sentiments, and 
had duly appreciated the character of Blake. Ke re* 
quested leave to depart, and observed to the admiral, 
"I am very sure Blake will soon be among you." 
" Get you gone, if you wish it, and let Blake come if 
he dares," was the reply of the haughty Spaniard. 

The English admiral did not want a challenge to 
fight. Having instantly made preparations for the en- 
gagement, a squadron of ships was selected from the 
whole fleet to make the first onset, headed by .captain 
Stayner, in the Speaker frigate ; who no sooner, received 
his orders than he flew with his canvas wings into the 
bay, and fell upon the Spanish ships, without appearing 
to regard the intense fire from the forts. Blake followed 
him with rapidity, and placing some of his largest ships 
to pour broad sides into the castle and forts> these played 
7 their 



ADMIRAL BLAKE. 217 

their part so well, that, in a short time, the Spaniards 
found their situation too hot to be tenable. 

Meanwhile, the admiral, in conjunction with Stayner, 
attacked the ships with such impetuosity, that, after a 
few hours' contest, the Spaniards were fairly beaten 
from them, and they were left to the mercy of the cap- 
tors. But, with all his exertions, Blake found it impos- 
sible to carry them off; and therefore he ordered his 
men to fire them, which was so effectually executed, 
that they were all reduced to ashes, except two, which 
sunk downright. 

This achieved, the English began to reflect on 
their own situation. The wind blew so strong into 
the bay, that many of the best officers despaired of get- 
ting out ; and as they lay Under the fire of the castle 
and forts, in a few hours more they must have been 
torn to pieces, and the fortune of the day reversed. 

What all the skill and bravery of Blake could not 
effect, Providence did for him. The wind suddenly 
veered to another quarter, and carried them to the open 
sea, before the Spaniards could recover from their con- 
sternation, at this daring and decisive action, which is 
one of the most remarkable ever performed by sea. " It 
was so miraculous, " says lord Clarendon, " that all 
men who knew the pla.ee, wondered how any sober man, 
with what courage soever endowed, would ever have 
undertaken it ; and they could hardly persuade them- 
selves to believe what they had done ; whilst the Spa- 
niards comforted themselves with the reflection, that 
they were devils and not men, who had accomplished 
such things.'' 

No sooner was the news of this signal victory bla- 
zoned abroad, than a public thanksgiving was ordered 
on the occasion, and a diamond ring voted by Crom- 
well's parliament to Blake, with other demonstrations 
of gratitude and respect to the whole fleet. 

K The 



218 ADMIRAL BLAKE. 

The admiral resumed his former station on the coast 
of Spain ; but, his ships becoming foul from long use, 
and himself falling into a dangerous disorder, which 
was aggravated by a sea life, and the want of those re- 
freshments which are only to be found on shore, he re- 
solved to return home. Finding his constitution ra- 
pidly giving way to a complication of dropsy and 
scurvy, the love of his native soil seems to have been 
uppermost in his mind. He hastened his voyage, that 
he might, at least, resign his breath in a country which 
was dear to him by every tie which can bind a good 
man, and which he had aggrandized by his valour. In 
this wish alone was fortune unpropitious to his vows. 
He frequently enquired for land, but he lived to see it 
only ; for he departed this life as the fleet was entering 
Plymouth, on the l?th of August, 1657, in the 5Sth 
year of his age. 

The protector ordered him a pompous funeral, at the 
public expence ; but the tears and regret of his coun- 
trymen were the most honourable eulogy on his me- 
mory. Never was any man who had devoted himself 
to an usurper, so much respected by those of opposite 
principles. Disinterested, generous, liberal ; ambitious 
only of true glory, and terrible only to the enemies of 
his country ; he forms one of the most perfect characters 
of that age, and is the least stained with any vice or 
meanness. Clarendon observes, that he was the firs! 
man who brought ships to contemn castles on shoreA 
which had hitherto been thought very formidable, btf 
were proved by him to be more alarming than dangeft. 
©us. He was also the first who infused that resolutiai 
into seamen, of making them attempt whatever was 
possible ; and the first who taught them to fight eitHer 
in fire or water. In short, he was the Nelson and me 
Sydney Smith of his day ; and proved, that to darelis 
generally to command success. Few things indeed, »e 

impracticatie , 



EARL OF CLARENDON.* 2 1 () 

impracticable to him who has a well-grounded confi- 
dence in his own powers, and who is diverted from his 
object by no seeming difficulties, nor lured from perse- 
verance by the blandishments of ease. 

After the restoration, the remains of Blake were re- 
moved from the vault wherein they had been deposited, 
in Westminster-abbey, by the express command of 
Charles II. and ignobly thrown into a pit with others, 
in St. Margaret's church-yard ; " in which place," says 
Wood, " they now remain, without any other monu- 
ment than that reared by his valour, which time itself 
can hardly efface. 



EDWARD HYDE, 

EARL OF CLARENDON, LORD HIGH CHANCELLOR 
OF ENGLAND. 

Born 1608— Died WJ4. 

Fiom bth James I. to 2bi/t Charles IF, 

TO preserve integrity of conduct, and consistency of 
principle, amidst public convulsions, when force 
generally sets right at defiance — to adhere to what is 
Just and honourable, regardless of what is expedient or 
profitable, is the character of a great and a good man. 
How far and in what respects lord chancellor Claren- 
don deserves this praise, will be seen from a brief survey 
of his life. 

This celebrated statesman, lawyer, and historiogra- 
pher, was descended from an ancient family in Cheshire, 
and was the third son of a gentleman, possessed of a 
small fortune, who resided at Denton, near Hindon, in 
K2 Wilts I 



£20 EDWAltD HYDE, 

Wilts ; where the future chancellor was bora. With no 
prospects of a patrimony, nor protected by great alli- 
ances, he had his fortune to make by his own merits ; 
and in the history of men it may be remarked, that for 
one who has increased the original honours of his fa- 
mily, and enlarged his hereditary possessions, thousands 
have pursued retrogade movements, and sunk what they 
felt no necessity to advance. Hence the aspiring and 
virtuous mind, ungifted by fortune, may draw the most 
favourable arguments for hope and perseverance : and 
when it views the elevation which others have reached, 
may learn to acquiesce in the toil which is requisite to 
gain the ascent. Edward Hyde received a private 
education, suitable to the circumstances of his family, 
under the vicar of the parish in which he was born ; 
but as an evidence that he must have been an apt scho- 
lar and displayed early talents, he was entered of 
Magdalen-hall, Oxford, .when just turned of thirteen. 
Here he took the degree of bachelor of arts ; and hav- 
ing improved his natural endowments by classical learn- 
ing, it seems that the height of his ambition, at that 
time, was to obtain a fellowship in Exeter college, but 
being disappointed in his views, he removed to the Mid- 
dle Temple. How often is Providence as kind in what 
it denies as in what it grants ! Had Hyde become the 
fellow of a college, it is probable that he might have 
passed his days in inglorious ease, and left no traces of 
his name ; but having once entered on the profession of 
the law, he found an opportunity for the exercise of his 
talents, and the display of his loyalty and patriotism. 

He pursued his studies in the Temple for several 
years with increasing reputation ; and when his society 
were determined to give a public testimony of their 
hatred to the indecent principles advanced in Prynne's 
Histriomastix, he was appointed one among the mana- 
gers of a masque presented on that occasion before king 

Charles 



EARL OP CLARENDON. Ill 

Charles and his queen, at Whitehall, in \6?A. But 
though Hyde was a friend to constitutional royalty, he 
strenuously opposed every illegal stretch of prerogative, 
and reprobated the subserviency of the judges to ad- 
vance the kingly power, at the expence of national li- 
berty. A remarkable incident, recorded by Burnet, is 
said to have contributed to Rx the steadiness of his 
principles, when he first began to acquire some emi- 
nence in his profession : As he was walking one day 
with his father in the fields round his native place, the 
old gentleman happened to observe, that men of his 
profession were apt to stretch the prerogative too far, 
and injure liberty ; and concluded with earnestly re- 
questing him, if it ever was his fortune to rise, never to 
sacrifice the laws or liberties of his country to private 
views or political intrigues. Having repeated this ad- 
vice in the most impressive manner, he immediately 
fell into a fit of apoplexy, which carried him off in a 
few hours afterwards. The filial duty of Hyde conspired 
with his own judgment to make this expostulation the 
rule of his future life, and he died in its observance. 

For some years he appeared to have confined himself 
wholly to the duties of his profession, without any am- 
bition of beine distinguished as a politician : but having 
been returned to parliament in 1640 forWootton Basset, 
he soon attracted notice by his eloquence, and the reso- 
lute stand which he made for his country's rights. 

This parliament was of short duration ; but another 
having been called, Mr. Hyde was elected for Saltash, 
in Cornwall ; and the promises which he had already 
given of a patriotic character were fully confirmed. He 
was frequently appointed chairman of several impor- 
tant committees ; and with all the fire of oratory de- 
claimed agaixst the usurpations of the crown, and the 
violation of the constitution, particularly in die article 
of ship-money. 

K 3 But 



222 EDWARD HYDE, 

But Hyde was not one of those incendiaries, who, 
having detected errors in the exercise of government, 
overlook all its beauties. He was as vigilant to pre- 
vent innovations in the constitution as encroachments 
on the liberty of the subject. When it was moved to 
deprive bishops of their vote, he represented that from 
the earliest institution of parliaments, they had been an 
integral part of it, and that they were the legitimate re- 
presentation of the whole body of the clergy, whose 
rights could not be wrested from them without the gros- 
sest injustice. On this momentous topic, he differed 
from his friend lord Falkland, with whom he kept up 
the closest intimacy ; and their enemies hoped that their 
separation would be total, but in this they were deceived. 
Each only claimed the privilege of speaking his own 
sentiments on particular occasions ; in essentials they 
were united. 

When the earl of Strafford was impeached of high 
treason, he was appointed one of the committee to draw 
tip the articles of accusation ; but, divesting himself of 
passion and prejudice, and foreseeing consequences 
which escaped the eye of intemperate partizans, he con- 
sidered him as guilty only of misdemeanors, and dis- 
claimed any concern in the proceedings by attainder. 
In a word, he was one of those glorious patriots, who 
act on independent principles ; who scorn to thwart go- 
vernment out of pique, or to sanction its measures 
from venal motives. As soon, therefore, as he perceived 
the commons to be carried away by a spirit of hostility 
to the constitution, and beginning to assume the execu- 
tive power which had been legitimately vested in other 
hands, he abandoned them to their follies and their 
crimes, and repaired to the king at York, who conferred 
upon him the honour of knighthood, and made him 
chancellor of the exchequer. 

From this time he was a firm adherent to his royal 

master, 



EARL OF CLARENDON. 223 

master, through all the vicissitudes of his fortune ; but 
confining his talents to their proper sphere, he' counsel- 
led rather than acted, and is little noticed during the 
intestine commotions, till the treaty of Uxbridge was 
set on foot, when he proved himself in quality of com- 
missioner a warm and judicious advocate for the king's 
"unalienable rights. 

All his exertions, however, proving abortive, and the 
civil war being renewed, Sir Edward Hyde was ap- 
pointed to attend the prince of Wales in the West, where 
he strove to maintain his master's interest, and to re- 
trieve his affairs ; but matters becoming worse and 
worse, he embarked from Pendennis castle for Jersey, 
in expectation of finding prince Charles at that place. 
His royal highness, however, having been removed to 
Paris, Sir Edward was so provoked at this impolitic 
and precipitate step, that he refused to attend him thi- 
ther, and spent two years and upwards in Jersey, em- 
ployed in the composition of his immortal work, the 
History of the Rebellion, which he undertook with the 
king's particular approbation and encouragement. 

In May, 1648, he received a letter from queen Hen- 
rietta, requiring him, in his majesty's name, to give his 
personal attendance on the prince of Wales, by a cer- 
tain day, at Paris. Some circumstances intervened to 
render this impossible, but he joined him soon after at 
the Hague, in company with lord Cottington. 

His various services to Charles II. during his exile, it 
is unnecessary to mention; they are sufficiently blazoned 
in general history. . His activity in promoting the re- 
storation, the pure and disinterested attachment which 
he shewed to his prince, under the most forlorn circum- 
stances, and sometimes amidst obloquy and ingratitude, 
rank him very high in our esteem. By the urgent soli- 
citation of Charles, he accepted the great seal, and in 
quality of lord Chancellor transacted almost the whole 
K. 4. business 



224 EDWARD HYDE, 

business of his little court, carried on negociations, and 
paved the way for his return to the throne of his an- 
cestors. 

No sooner was Charles happily restored, than he con- 
firmed Sir Edward Hyde in his office of lord high chan- 
cellor, and placed the most unlimited confidence in the 
wisdom and integrity of his councils. Soon after, he 
was elected chancellor of the university of Oxford, and 
created a peer of the realm, by the title of baron Hyde ; 
and next year he was raised to the dignity of viscount 
Cornbury, and earl of Clarendon. 

Great as the honours and distinctions were with 
which he was invested, his merit became them all. His 
prudence, liis justice, and his moderation, had been 
eminently conspicuous on the restoration, in adjusting 
the boundaries between royal prerogative and national 
liberty. He reconciled many clashing interests, and 
from confusion had reduced much to order. He pro- 
moted an act of indemnity to calm the fears of the re- 
publicans, and an act of uniformity to satisfy the roy- 
alists. 

But still his situation was far from being enviable. 
The gay and dissolute Charles was liberal in professions, 
but he generally referred to his chancellor for their com- 
pletion. Clarendon had it not in his power to satisfy 
every just claim on royal munificence, much less to ra- 
tify heedless promises. Every person, however, who 
met with a gracious smile from the kmg, and a reluctant 
compliance from the chancellor, set him down as an 
enemy ; and when it was discovered that his daughter 
had been clandestinely married to the duke of York, 
though he was perfectly innocent in this respect, the po- 
pular odium against him was dangerously inflamed, 
and his best actions were misconstrued, as the means of 
aggrandizing his own family. The king assured him, 
however, of his continued favour and esteem ; but the 

friendship 



EAHl OF CLARENDON". 225 

friendship of Charles was as fleeting as his enmity : with 
strong sense, and a cultivated understanding, he gave 
himself up to pleasure and mirth, and was seldom roused 
to reflection, except when his cofFers were low, or the 
associates of his indiscretions were clamorous for his 
bounty. 

Murmuring long repressed, or vented in private, at 
length found a public organ in the earl of Bristol, who, 
in 1663, exhibited articles of impeachment againt him 
in the house of lords. Between this nobleman and Cla- 
rendon there had subsisted a close and intimate friend- 
ship, both in prosperous and adverse fortune; and it 
was vainly thought to have been indissoluble ; but the 
chancellor, prompted by duty, having refused a fa- 
vour to a court lady, whom Bristol patronized, he 
henceforward thought of nothing but malice and re- 
venge. 

It is humiliating to reflect, how frail are the ties that 
bind men ! how fleeting are our dearest delights ! 

Friends now fast sworn, 
Whose double bosoms seem to wear or>e heart, 

Who twine, as tVere in love 

Inseparable: shall within this hour, 
On a dissension of a doit, break out 
To bitterest enmity. Sh akspe a re. 

To refuse the last favour in the chain of obligations, 
is frequently ta cancel all the preceding. The Earl of 
Bristol was more inveterate against Clarendon for a 
paltry refusal in regard to a worthless woman, than if 
they had never been friends ; but his resentment over- 
shot its mark, and the charges which he alleged, sa- 
voured more of private revenge, than a love of public 
justice. 

Clarendon was honourably acquitted, but his enemies 
did not wholly lose their aim. The purest human vir- 
tue, when sifted to the last, will discover some dross; 
K5 and 



22.6. EDWARD HYDE, 

and some inuendos that had been thrown out paved the 
way to his future disgrace. To the king* whose dissolute 
course of life and licentious amours he freely censured, 
he daily became less acceptable ; to the nation he was 
deemed amenable for faults which he had not the power 
to correct* Intrigues were formed against him by the 
duke of Buckingham and others ; and Charles wearied 
with the importunity of parasites, and the bold remon- 
strances of Clarendon, demanded the seals, in August, 
1667: which were no sooner delivered up, than the com- 
mons renewed the impeachment against him, and at 
the bar of the house of lords accused him of treason 
and other high crimes and misdemeanors. 

A variety of circumstances had conspired to render 
Clarendon unpopular. His pacific disposition, amidst 
the insults of the Dutch; his advising the sale of Dun- 
kirk, which perhaps was the truest policy; his opposi- 
tion to the bill for liberty of conscience ; and his vanity 
in building a splendid palace, during times of peculiar 
distress from plague and conflagration ; were all turned 
to his disadvantage by one party or the other. Yet it 
must net be concealed, that the odium excited against 
him was, in general, very unjust. He had ever steered 
a middle course between prerogative and national li- 
berty ; and the people were highly indebted to him for 
imposing a check on the crown by granting only such 
a revenue as obliged the king to have some dependence 
on his parliament. Had the advice of others been fol- 
lowed, Charles might have reigned without controul, 
by the profusion of that establishment which had been 
proposed for his use* 

The people, however, seldom think for themselves, 
and are more frequently the dupes of the intriguing 
than of the wise. Clarendon saw his credit was lost, 
and his doom sealed. He drew up, however, a mas- 
terly apology, in which he vindicated his own honour 

and 



EARL OP CLARENDON. 22f 

and conducT, and threw the whole blame that had been 
imputed to htm on those who better deserved it; but 
not trusting to the effect of this among prejudiced 
judges, he went into voluntary exile, from which he ne- 
ver returned. 

He made choice of France for the place of his sojourn- 
ment: but his enemies had already been tampering 
with that court; and no sooner had he reached Calais, 
than he received orders to quit the kingdom. Being 
seized with a violent fit of the gout, he petitioned for 
time; and during the interval of his recovery, the sen- 
timents of the French suddenly changing, he was in- 
dulged with permission to take up his residence there. 
At last he fixed himself at Rouen, in Normandy, where 
he breathed his last, in 1674; when his body was 
brought to England, and buried in Henry VII.'s chapel, 
in Westminster-abbey. 

For political sagacity, and genuine patriotism, lord 
chancellor Clarendon will bear a comparison with the 
most celebrated statesmen. He brought the vessel of 
state into port, after it had been tossed by one of the 
longest and most violent storms that this country had 
ever experienced; and on his fidelity the sovereign 
might repose unlimited confidence, while the people, 
under all the circumstances of his situation, could have 
little ground for accusation. Had he been more prone 
to a dereliction of their interests, he would have been 
more acceptable to the king ; had he been less attached 
to his majesty, his popularity would have remained to 
thj last. But, by pursuing the line of duty and consci- 
ence, he was finally a favourite with neither: his tem- 
per was too grave for the volatile Charles ; his integrity 
too inflexible for his debauched courtiers. It is said, 
that the duke of Buckingham, in particular, who pos- 
sessed the talent for ridicule in a high degree, used to 
entertain the king with the solemn pace, the sententious 

K 6 wisdom. 



22S . EDWARD HYDE. 

wisdom, at second hand, of his chancellor: and to ren- 
der him ungracious, it was nothing unusual for the cour- 
tiers, who dared to take such liberties, to point out Cla- 
rendon to the king, with " there goes your school- 
master/' Charles had not gratitude enough to ap- 
preciate his services as they deserved, and he suffered 
himself to be prejudiced against a man, who stuck to 
him in the worst times, by the silly banters of worthless 
minions. Yet it must be allowed, that Clarendon was 
little qualified jto steer his way through the obliquities 
of a depraved court ; he could not disguise his abhor- 
rence of vice, he could not flatter foibles which he 
thought might be dangerous. He was religious from 
conviction, and his attachment to the church of England 
was manifested in his whole conduct. When his daugh- 
ter, consort to the duke of York, was induced to em- 
brace the religion of the Romish church, he wrote, in 
the most affectionate and earnest terms, to dissuade her 
from this resolution ; and his arguments displayed no 
'mean skill in polemical divinity. But she was biassed 
by her deluded husband and crafty priests, and died in 
that faith, to the sincere and deep sorrow of her un- 
happy father. 

As a writer, we leave the fame of Clarendon in the 
hands of the public, which has highly estimated his la- 
bours, The history of the rebellion will be coeval 
with literature itself. Though not exempt from preju- 
dice, and though little graced by the ornaments of mo- 
dern style and composition, it shews a depth of research 
a masterly delineation of character, and a deduction of 
effects from their remotest causes, that must charm the 
sensible, and amuse the idle, to the latest periods of 
time. From his works the politician may glean know- 
ledge, and private men gather maxims for the regula- 
tion of their conduct, in almost every situation into 
which they can be thrown* 

JOHN 



( 22Q ) 
JOHN MILTON. 

Born 1608— Died 1674. 
From bth James 7. to 2hth Charles 77. 

Three Poets, in three distant ages born, 
Greece, Italy, and England, did adorn : 
The first in loftiness of thought surpassed ; 
The next in majesty; in both the last : 
The force of nature could no farther go ; 
To make a third, she join'd the former two. 

IN these pointed and nervous paraphrastic lines of 
Dryden, the characters of the three great epic poets, 
Homer, Virgil, and Milton, are well discriminated. If 
the palm be given to the latter, it is, perhaps, no more 
than just. The dignity and sublimity of the subject, on 
which Milton wrote, raised him above all comparison ; 
and the vigour of his genius supported the weight which 
he had assumed. Whoever can read Milton without 
admiration, must be destitute not only of moral feeling, 
but genuine taste : his heart is not formed to relish in- 
tellectual pleasures ; his soul is not tuned to the percep- 
tion of what is beautiful or sublime. In a work, there- 
fore, intended to wake dormant curiosity, and to rouse 
the most generous passions, by example or contrast, 
it would be unpardonable to omit the life of Milton, 
the immortal honour of his country, and the prince of 
modern poets. 

If the man fail to instruct, the poet will not be studied 
in vain. To his principal works we wish to call theat- 
tention of our readers ; and here his praise is above envy, 
and his character without alloy. 

This illustrious poet was descended from an ancient 
family, long seated at Milton, near Thame, in 'Oxford- 
shire i but having engaged in the unhappy .quarrels be- 
tween 



230 JOHN MILTON. 

tween the two roses, which long deluged England in 
blood, they had the misfortune to forfeit their principal 
estate. His grandfather, a zealous papist, enjoyed, 
however, an appointment in the forest of Shotover, in 
that vicinity ; but his father, being cruelly disinherited 
for embracing the protestant faith, settled in London, 
as a scrivener ; and in Bread-street, John Milton, his 
eldest son, ~was born, in 1608. 

After receiving a domestic education for some time 
under a worthy clergyman, whose fame is prolonged in 
his pupil's first essays, he was removed to St. Paul's 
school, where, by indefatigable application, he made an 
extraordinary progress in classical lore. From his 12th 
year, he devoted the greatest part of the night to study, 
and laid the foundation of those disorders which after- 
wards terminated in total blindness. 

It may be remarked, that few have made a distin- 
guished figure in the literary career, who have not 
evinced an early predilection for books. The boy who 
performs the prescribed task, who attends to all the mi- 
nutiae of his duty, may escape censure, he may even gain 
applause, but he will never reach the exalted heights of 
the voluntary student, who seeks for learning from the 
innate love which he bears it. To obtain excellence in 
whatever we attempt, sacrifices must be made which 
cannot be directed ; and an enthusiasm must inspire us 
to surmount difficulties, which the lukewarm and the 
indolent will fear to encounter. Had the boyish Milton 
spent his leisure hours, which might have been done 
without blame, in the common amusements of his years, 
it is probable that we should never have heard of his 
Paradisf Lost. Yet, while it is commendable to give 
a stimulus to youthful application, by the incentive of 
virtuous fame, it is^no less necessary to caution against 
sapping the springs of life by too intense study* Occa- 
sional relaxation is of service both to the body and the 

mind ; 



JOHN MILTON. 231 

mind: the sanity of the latter depends much on that of 
the former, and all our comforts in existence certain- 
ly flow from health. 

But to return from this digression. In his sixteenth 
year, our poet was admitted of Christ's college, Cam- 
bridge. Deeply tinctured with classical learning, his 
academic exercises must have appeared extremely light : 
it is certain that he had composed some beautiful Latin 
poems before he removed to the university; and the 
greatest part of his compositions in that language were 
produced during the period which he continued there. 
He had formed his taste on the purest models of an- 
tiquity, and was considered as the first Englishman who 
wrote with classical elegance. But he did not confine 
himself to Latin poetry only ; in the studious retirements 
of Cambridge, he conceived the first rude idea of the 
w r ork which will render his name immortal. 

After taking the degree of master of arts, he quitted 
the university, and retired to Korton, near Colnbrook 5 
where his father then resided, on a competent fortune, 
gained in the successful practice of his vocation. It 
seems that the old gentleman had destined him for the 
church: but Milton had early imbibed notions unfa- 
vourable to the hierachy; and his father, feeling for the 
conscientious scruples of the son, did not wish to press 
his compliance. The praise of consistency those who 
are the most inimical to the political and religious prin- 
ciples of our poet, cannot deny him: and so far he is en- 
titled to our esteem. 

In his retirement at Horton, he prosecuted his studies 
with unparalleled assiduity and success. He read over 
all the Greek and Latin classical writers, and made 
them, in every instance, subservient to his love for 
poetry. During this interval he produced his celebrat- 
ed masque of Comus ; a work in which imagery, pa- 
thos, and a fervid but chaste language, decorate every 

page. 



232 John milton; 

page. Though less adapted for the stage, it will never' 
cease, while genuine taste remains, to please in the clo- 
set ; and in some respects it may, perhaps, be regarded 
as inferior only to Paradise Lost. 

His next production was Lycidas, a delightful mono- 
dy, occasioned by the death of an amiable young gentle- 
man, the son of Sir John King, secretary for Ireland, 
who was lost in his passage to that country. Between 
him and Milton an intimate friendship had been con- 
tracted at the university, and he bewails the lacerated 
ties of youthful affection, in terms as honourable to the 
man as to the poet. It is supposed that about this time 
too he composed those exquisite poems entitled 1' Alle- 
gro, and PernTeroso; which, had he left nothing else, 
would have transmitted his name to immortality. 

His reputation as a poet having attracted the regard 
of the public, and procured him some valuable private 
friendships, after spending five years at Horton, with 
occasional visits to the metropolis, on the demise of his 
mother, he obtained his father's permission to travel. 

After procuring proper recommendations and intro- 
ductions, he left England in 1638, and first visited Pa- 
ris, where he was introduced to the celebrated Grotius ; 
then hastening into Italy, he applied himself to the study 
of the language and literature of that country, with the 
most brilliant success. The great, the learned, treated 
him with distinguished attention; and notwithstanding 
his avowed principles, which he was too honest to dis- 
guise, cardinal Barberini, afterwards Urban VIII. 
shewed him some uncommon marks of personal respect. 

From Rome our poet proceeded to Naples, where the 
marquis of Villa, who had been the patron of Tasso, 
paid him the homage due to his illustrious attainments; 
and in return was complimented with the most grateful 
effusions of his elegant pen. In other parts of Italy he 
was equally honoured and caressed, by every one distin- 
guished 



JOHN MILTON. 233 

guished for rank, urbanity, or talents. The great Ga- 
lileo, then a prisoner in the inquisition, for daring to 
know more of the celestial motions than his ignorant 
and bigotted judges, received a visit of respect from 
Milton, among other men of extraordinary acquirements 
in science and literature. 

After having spent two years in continental travels, 
which he originally designed to extend to Sicily and 
Greece, news arrived of the civil commotions in his na- 
tive country ; and judging it criminal to remain a dis- 
tant or an indifferent spectator of scenes which involved 
all that was dear to Englishmen, he hastened his return, 
and took a house in Aldergate-street, London ; where 
he employed his time in superintending the education 
of a few young gentlemen, who boarded and lodged 
under his roof. How well he was qualified for this im- 
portant, though often ill-rewarded office, must be evi- 
dent to every unprejudiced mind. His success, indeed, 
was correspondent with his capacity ; and his Treatise 
on Education shews the plan of scholastic institution 
which he pursued. While genius is pining in obscurity, 
or toiling in a vocation where its energies are useless, it 
may be some consolation to reflect, that the immortal 
author of Paradise Lost submitted to the drudgery of a 
pedagogue. His pen, however, was occasionally em- 
ployed in sapping the foundation of church govern- 
ment, and in exalting the puritanical party, to which he 
had devoted himself with unshaken adherence. 

Having reached his thirty-fifty year, he married Mary, 
the daughter of Richard Powell, esq. ; but his lady, on 
some disagreement, deserted him soon after ; which so 
provoked Milton, that he paid his addresses to another, 
and wrote, with much acrimony, against the existing 
laws of marriage; boldly maintaining that unfitness, or 
contrariety of dispositions, or whatever was repugnant 
to the endearments of conjugal society*, were as solid 

claims 



234 JOHN MILTON. 

claims to a divorce as adultery, or natural frigidity. 
His wife, however, saw her folly, and retrieved her 
error before it was too late. In an unexpected inter- 
view, contrived by some - benevolent and judicious 
friends, she threw herself at his feet, and implored his 
forgiveness. Milton was not proof against a woman's 
tears, particularly those of a woman whom he so lately 
loved with an ardent affection : — 



-Soon his heart relented 



T'wards her, his life so late, and sole delight, 
Now at his feet, submissive in distress, 

The civil war now raging with the greatest fury, 
Milton was induced, by party zeal, to suspend the pur- 
suits of elegant literature, and to fall into the vortex of 
political discussion. But, though his talents gave him 
a temporary reputation in polemics, and indeed spread 
his fame over all Europe, his labours of this kind are 
now less celebrated ; while his celebrity as a poet has 
been continually increasing, and will increase till time 
shall be no more. The political work which gained him 
the most extensive fame, was his Dtfensio pro Popvlo An- 
glhano, in answer to Salmasius, who wrote the Defensta 
Regis. The asperity with which Milton wrote is said 
to have broken the heart of his rival ; but though our 
poet was rewarded with 1000/. for this piece of service, 
and made Latin secretary to Cromwell, he had little 
reason to triumph in his success. By too intense appli-. 
cation, a gutta serena, which had long afFecled his sight* 
now terminated in a total loss of vision. About this 
period, too, he lost his wife, who left him three daugh- 
ters ; and, soon marrying another, in little more than 
the revolution of a year, he became, a second time, a 
widower. 

After Cromwell had established his usurpation on the 
ruins of the monarchy, Milton, who seems to have been 

as 



JOHN MILTON* 235 

as much inimical to ancient institutions as averse to ar- 
bitrary power, awed, perhaps, into silence by fear, or 
biassed by gratitude, acquiesced in the change that 
took place, and resumed his studies; but produced no- 
thing more, that deserves to be remembered, till after 
the restoration. 

At that era, he knew that the active part which he had 
taken would expose him to the most imminent danger ; 
and he prudently absconded till matters took another 
turn, and the late of the most violent partizans of rebel- 
lion and usurpation had been decided. The abilities, 
the virtues of Milton, raised him up friends on this emer- 
gency. By the interest of Sir William Davenant, 
whose life he had formerly saved, he received the be- 
nefit of the act of amnesty, and his polemical writings 
Only were ordered to be burnt by the hands of the com- 
mon hangman. It is gratifying to such as venerate the 
name of Milton to reflect, that in his highest exaltation 
he was moderate towards those who differed from him 
in politics, and that his memory is stained by no cruel 
or arbitrary action. In him it was exemplified, " that 
an intimate acquaintance with the liberal arts, softens 
the manners, nor suffers them to be ferocious. " He met 
with a recompence in the attachment of friends, at a 
crisis of peculiar danger; and his example proves the 
wisdom of lenity and forbearance, amidst the distrac- 
tions of political frenzy, 

Milton was now, in the fifty-second year of his age, 
deprived of sight, borne dow r n by infirmities, and de- 
pressed by the vicissitudes of his fortune; yet the vigour 
; of his mind enabled him to rise, with elastic force, over 
this accumulation of ills: he appeared again in public, 
i entered the third time into the marriage-state, with a 
| Miss Minshul, a native of Cheshire; and, it is said, re- 
fused the place of Latin secretary to the king, notwith- 
standing the most pressing importunities of his wife. 

When 



236 JOHN MILTON. 

When she urged him to comply with the times, and ao 
cept the royal offer, his answer is said to have been to 
the following purport: " You are in the right, my dear; 
like other women, you are ambitious to ride in your 
coach ; while my whole aim is to live and die an honest 
man." 

Soon after his third nuptials, Milton removed to a 
house in Artillery- walk, leading to Bunhill-flelds, where 
he resided till his death, except during the plague in 
1665. During that awful visitation, he retired with his 
family to Chalfont St. Giles, in Buckinghamshire, 
where he put the last hand to his Paradise Lost, a 
work that had occupied his thoughts for a long series 
of years. We are told, that Milton sometimes was in* 
capable of producing a single line, and, at other seasons, 
his unpremeditated verse flowed with a felicity resem- 
bling inspiration. On those occasions, he immediately 
rang for his daughter, who acted as his amanuensis, and 
would dictate a considerable number of lines in a breath, 
which he afterwards polished and reduced. About the 
vernal and autumnal equinox, his vein of poetry was 
said to be the most happy. Indeed, few literary per- 
sons are insensible, that extremes of heat or cold are 
equally unfavourable to the exertions of the mind ; few 
are unacquainted with periodical obscurations and bril- 
liances of genius. 

After this immortal poem was ready for the press, it 
had nearly been suppressed by the ignorance or malice 
of the licenser, who found, or fancied, treason in the fol- 
lowing noble simile : 

As when the sun new-risen 

Looks through the horizontal misty air, 

Shorn of his beams ; or from behind the moon, 

In cl%n eclipse, disastrous twilight sheds 

On half the nations, and with fear of change 

Perplexes monarchs. 

Having 



JOHN MILTON. 23? 

Having overcome the cavils raised by the licenser, 
Milton sold the copy-right for five pounds in hand, five 
pounds more when one thousand three hundred were 
sold, and the same sum on the publication of the second 
and third editions. From this agreement, Milton re- 
ceived no more than fifteen pounds ; and his widow after- 
wards transferred every claim, for the poor additional 
sum of eight pounds. 

Such was the first reception of a work that constitutes 
die glory and the boast of English poetry, and which 
may be reckoned among the noblest efforts of human 
. genius in any age or country. But Milton wrote for 
immortality; and he has not lost his reward. Like the 
sun bursting from the horizon of vapours, his Paradise 
Lost gradually rose to the zenith; and having long 
: become stationary, has no decline to dread, unless worse 
than Gothic darkness should overspread the regions of 
taste. 

About three years after the appearance of Paradise 
Lost, Milton produced his Sampson Agonistes, a tra- 
gedy, written on the purest Greek model; and Para- 
dise Regained, which our poet is said to have prefer- 
red before his great work; but, if this was his real opi- 
nion, it only shews how incompetent an author is to de- 
cide on the merits of his own productions. The Paradise 
Regained, we are told, originated from a hint suggested 
by Elwood the quaker; but, though a poem of consi- 
derable merit, and which would have raised the reputa- 
tion of any other man to an exalted degree, was so 
wholly eclipsed by the Paradise Lost, that its merits are, 
in a great measure, obscured by the comparison. In 
fact, it resembles the lustre of the morning-star absorbed 
m the meridian blaze ; it is the Odyssey of Milton. 

A life of indefatigable study, and which had been 

exposed to various vicissitudes, hastened that hour 

which neither the great nor the learned can escape. 

2 Milton 



238 JOHN MILTON. 

Milton had long been abided by the gout and other in- 
firmities, and was so completely worn out, that he had 
only to divest himself of mortality ; which he did with- 
out a struggle, on the 10th of November, 1674, in the 
sixty-sixth year, of his age. His remains were interred 
in the church" of St. Giles, Cripplegate; and his 
funeral was numerously and splendidly attended. A 
monument was, many years afterwards, erected to his 
memory, in Westminster abbey ; but what occasion has 
Milton for a monument, whose fame fills the enlightened 
universe ! 

Though improvidence is the general vice of poets, at 
least of those who vainly fancy that it is a proof of supe- 
rior genius to spurn at little things, Milton, after being 
stripped by both parties, through his prudent economy 
left 1,5001. behind him. We have, therefore, the con- 
solation to reflect, that this illustrious bard was never in 
indigence, though he might be remote from affluence. 
His family, however, gradually sank into the humbler 
spheres of life, and his line is generally supposed to be 
extinct. 

Milton was of the middling stature, formed with the 
most perfect symmetry ; of a ruddy complexion, and 
light brown hair. In his youth he was eminently beau- 
tiful ; and so delicate, that he went, at Cambridge, by 
the appellation of " the lady of Christ's college/' The 
marquis of Villa too, independently of existing portraits, 
gives us a high idea of Milton's beauty of person, in a 
neat Latin epigram; which has been paraphrastically 
rendered, 

So perfe&tbou, in mind, in form, and face, 
Thou'it not of English, but angelic race. 

Both his constitution and his taste led him to abste- 
miousness. The one was too weak to bear excesses, the 
other too refined to indulge in them. In early youth, he 
studied late at night, but afterwards reversed his hours. 

In 



JOHN MTLTON* 33Q 

In his occasional relaxations from the pursuits of lite* 
rature, he amused himself with conversation and music, 
in which he was a proficient. After a gutta serena had 
left him in total darkness, he taught his daughters to 
read the Hebrew, Greek, and Latin languages, without 
teaching them to understand these languages, and thus 
made them auxiliaries in his studies. 

His own learning was immense. He was perfect 
master of the Hebrew, Greek, Latin, Italian, and Spa- 
nish. He was originally of the school of Spencer, Shak- 
speare, and Cowley, as a poet: but he afterwards form- 
ed one of his own ; and, though he has had many imi- 
tators, he has never yet found a rival. 

His political principles were strictly republican, yet 
England was much less a republic under Cromwell than 
under Charles. In fact, in almost every revolution that 
history records, honest men are the dupes of their own 
sincerity, while some unprincipled demagogue artfully 
turns the popular frenzy to his own private interest or 
aggrandizement. In theology, Milton strongly inclined 
to arminianism ; but towards the close of his life he 
seems to have entered into communion with no religi- 
ous sect, and entertained only a certain philosophic reli- 
gion of the mind, founded, however, on the christian 
dispensation. 

The port of Milton was erect, his demeanor open and 
affable, his conversation easy, cheerful, and instructive. 
The promptness of his wit qualified him to shine on 
every occasion ; he was facetious, grave, or satirical, as 
the subject required; his judgment was just and pro- 
found; and his reading almost as extensive as his genius* 
If he had faults and defe&s ; and who is exempt from 
them? they were either diminished, or lost in the bril- 
liancy of his attainments. 

His character as an epic poet is thus admirably sum- 
med up by Johnson. — u The highest praise of genius 

7 is / 



&40 ANDREW MARVELL. 

is original invention. Milton cannot be said to have 
contrived the structure of an epic poem, and must there- 
fore yield to that vigour and amplitude of mind to 
which all generations must be indebted, for the art of 
poetical narration, for the texture of" the fable, the va- 
riation of incidents, the interposition of dialogue, and 
all the stratagems that surprize and enchain attention. 
But, of all the borrowers from Homer, Milton is, per- 
haps, the least indebted* He was naturally a thinker 
for himself, confident of his own abilities, and disdain- 
ful of help or hindrance ; he did not refuse admission 
to the thoughts or images of his predecessors, but he did 
not seek them. From his contemporaries he neither 
courted nor received support : there is, in his writings, 
nothing by which the pride of other authors might be 
gratified, or favour gained ; no exchange of praise, n©r 
solicitation of support. His great works were perform- 
ed under discountenance, and in blindness ; but difficul- 
ties vanished at his touch : he was born for whatever is 
arduous; and his work is not the greatest of heroic 
poems, only because it is not the first." 



A 



ANDREW MARVELL, 

Born 1620— Died 1678. 

From X'jtk James I. to 2$t/i Charles IT. 

MAN, who could preserve the most blameless 
simplicity of manners amidst the allurements of 
public life, and a noble spirit of independence under the 
occasional pressures of real want ; who could neither 
barter his conscience for a smile, nor sell his vote 
for gain; who could render himself entirely beloved by 
his friends, and revered by those whose principles were 
diametrically opposite to his own ; — in these days would 

be 



ANDREW MARVELL. 241 

be regarded as a singular phenomenon, and infallibly 
must have possessed some extraordinary virtues and en- 
dowments. Such was Andrew Marvell, the son of the 
minister and schoolmaster at Kingston-upon-Hull. 

This incorruptible patriot, and ingenious writer, dis- 
covered a predilection for letters from the earliest dawn 
of reason ; and he had made so great proficiency in clas- 
sical learning, that he was admitted a student of Trinity 
college, Cambridge, when only thirteen years old. Such 
was the promise of his genius, that he had not been 
long in that situation before the Jesuits, those busy 
agents of the Romish church, thought him a proper 
subject for a proselyte, and accordingly they inveigled him 
to London. His father, however, had the good fortune 
to find him in a bookseller's shop, and prevailed on him 
to return to college ; where he pursued his studies with 
great assiduity, and in due course took his bachelor's 
degree. 

When about eighteen years of age, he lost his father 
by a singularly melancholy accident, which, by as singu- 
lar a concatenation of events, paved the way to his own 
future fortune. 

A widow lady of great respectability and virtue re- 
sided on the other side of the Humber. She had an only 
daughter of eminent beauty and accomplishments, wno, 
on some festive occasion, was allowed to spend a night 
at Mr. Marvell's house. Next day the young lady was 
anxious to return to her expecting parent; and, though 
it blew r zh a storm, that even the watermen earnestly 
dissuaded her from attempting the passage, she was deaf 
to their remonstrances ; and the worthy minister deter- 
mined to accompany her. Just before they put off Mr. 
Marvell threw his gold-headed cane ashore, which he 
desired might begiven to his son, if any fatal consequences 
should ensue. His presntiment was too just ; he and his 
companion found a watery grave. The mother of the 
L unfortunate 



242 ANDREW MARVELL. 

unfortunate ycurrg lady was long inconsolable; but in 
time, reflecting on' the greater loss which young Marvell 
had sustained, she adopted him as her son, took upon her 
the charge of his future education, and finally made him 
her heir. ' 

After leaving the university, Marvell made the tour 
of Europe, and began to distinguish himself as a writer 
as well as a scholar. He had a peculiar turn for humour 
and satire, and some of his first essays contain much 
point. It seems, he filled, for a short time, the situation 
of Secretary to the English embassy at Constantinople; 
and on his return to his native country, we find him first 
a tutor to a young gentleman of fortune, and then joint 
Latin secretary to Cromwell with the immortal Milton. 
* A little before the restoration he was chosen to repre- 
sent his native town in parliament ; and in this honour- 
able delegation he continued till his death, with un- 
bounded applause. So well were his constituents satis- 
fied with his conduct, that they pressed his acceptance of 
a pension raised among themselves ; an honourable mode 
of remuneration, once sanctioned by custom, but now 
grown obsolete. 

Nor was it only from his townsmen that Mr. Marvell 
gained the highest admiration; his incorruptible inte- 
grity rendered htm an object of respect to all the virtu- 
ous. By his writings and his conduct he made himself 
obnoxious to government, and more than once was 
obliged to abscond; yet the greatest men of the court, 
and even the sovereign himself, felt a strong esteem for 
the man. As a speaker he was not much distinguished, 
but his infhence was very great with the members of 
both houses ; and prince Rupert had such respect to his 
counsels, that he frequently adopted his sentiments, and 
voted accordingly, On such occasions it was a common 
saying, " that the prince had been with his tutor." In- 
deed, such was the intimacy between them, that when 

the 



ANDREW MARVELL. 243 

the indignant pen of Marvell had roused all the malice 
of venal courtiers, and was forced to retire from the 
busy scene, the prince used to visit him in disguise, and 
preserved his secret inviolable. 

Charles II. himself took great delight in unbending 
his mind with the society of Marvell, and often invited 
him to his parties, probably with a view of gaining his 
support ; for it has long been a maxim with politicians, 
" that every man has his price." But all the winning 
arts of the king, and all the violence of his ministers, 
could not shake the resolution or corrupt the integrity 
of Marvell; he was absolutely proof against all temp- 
tations. One instance we wish to preserve in these pages. 
After spending the evening with Charles, lord Danby 
was dispatched next morning to find out his lodgings', 
which were then up two pair of stairs, in a small court 
in the Strand. When the treasurer opened the door> 
abruptly, Marvell was busily employed in writing; and* 
surprised at such a visit, told his lordship, " he supposed 
he had mistaken his way." "Not new I have found 
Mr. Marvell,''* was the reply; adding, that he was com- 
missioned by his majesty to ask what he could do to 
serve him. " It is not in his majesty's power to serve 
-me," facetiously rejoined Marvell. 

Coming to a more serious explanation, he told the 
treasurer, u that he was well acquainted with the nature 
. ourts, having been in many; and that whoever is 
distinguished by the favour of his prince, is always ex- 
pected to vote in his interest." Lord Danby assured 
him, " that it was from the sense alone which his ma- 
jesty entertained of his merit that he wished to know 
if any place at court would be acceptable to him/* To 
this Marvell answered, " that he could not with honour 
accept the offer ; since he must either be ungrateful if 
he voted against the king, or false to his country in sup- 
porting the measures of the court. The only favour, 
L 2 therefore. 



244 ANDREW MAUVELL. 

therefore, which he bogged of his sovereign was, tn;- 
would be pleased to consider him as one of his most 
faithful subjects ; and that he had done more for his 
interest by refusing than embracing his proffered kind- 
ness." Being at last urged to accept 10001. till he 
could think of something permanent to his mind, he re- 
jected the money with the same steadiness as the place ; 
though the treasurer was no sooner gone, than he was 
glad to borrow a guinea of a friend. 

Such disinterested virtue will be laughed at by the 
selfish, and scarcely copied by any one, in times when 
luxury has deadened the moral feeling : yet to the 
young it furnishes a bright example, and it should be 
kept in view, though they may never be able to attain 
its excellence. The polar star serves to guide the ma- 
riner, though he never attempts to gain its sphere. 

After a life of private integrity and public worth, 
Marvell resigned his breath, in the 58th year of his age, 
not without strong suspicions of being poisoned. He 
was buried in the church of St. Giles in the Fields ; 
and his constituents, in grateful remembrance of his pa- 
triotic services, collected a sum of money to erect a mo- 
nument over his grave, with an appropriate and elegant 
inscription, which we subjoin as a just picture of the 
man: but the rector of the parish refused the admis- 
sion of either ; and his only, and indeed his best memo- / 
rials, are his life and writings ; from which he appears 
to have been an active and zealous champion in defence 
of civil and religious liberty. 

Near this place 

Lieth the body of Andrew Marvell, esq. 

A man so endowed by nature, 

So improved by education, study, and travel, 

So consummated by experience and learning, 

That, joining the most peculiar grace of wit 

With a singular penetration and strength of judgment, 

And 



ALGERNON SYDNEY. 24;> 

And exercising all these in the whole course of his 
With unalterable steadiness in the way of virtue, 
He became the ornament and example of his age ; 
Beloved by good men, feared by bad, admired by all ; 
Though imitated, alas ! by few, 
And scarcely paralleled by any. 
But a tombstone can neither contain his cha?acter, 
Nor 4s marble necessary to transmit if to posterity ; 

It is engraved on the minds of this generation, 

And will be always legible in his inimitable writings'. 

Nevertheless, 

He having served nearly twenty years successively in parliament, 

And that with such wisdom, dexterity, integrity, and courage. 

As became a true patriot; 

The town of Kingston-on-HuIl, 

From whence he was constantly deputed to that assembly, 

Lamenting, in his death, the public loss, 
Have erected this monument of their grief and gratitude, 



ALGERNON SYDNEY. 

Born 1622— Beheaded 1683. 

From 197* James T* tc 34 'h Charles IT, 

IN some minds the love of liberty is paramount to 
every other passion, and when this has a genuine 
stamp, is exerted on proper objects, and displayed on 
proper occasions, frigid must that soul be which feels 
no warmth from the contemplation of its effects. At 
the names of Hampden, Russell, and Sydney, the 
youthful bosom beats high with the throb of patriotism^ 
and expands with the glow of emulation. Their me- 
mories have long been consecrated by freedom and 
their country-; they have been embalmed in the poet's 
lay and the patriot's harangue ; nor are we disposed 
to tear one leaf of well-earned laurel from their, tombs, 
According to their own conceptions of duty, they 
L 3 afteii 



'246 ALGERNON SYDNEY. 

acted purely and uprightly, and therefore are entitled 
to respect from such as may dislike their conduct. Si- 
nister views did not enter into the composition of their 
actions ; and if their principles should be deemed wrong, 
their hearts were right. Yet, while we admit this, we 
wish to impress on our youthful readers the necessity of 
distinguishing between a real and a spurious liberty, 
and the danger of imbibing theoretic doctrines of go- 
vernment, which militate against practical experience, 
or are subversive of established order. 

Thomson, after paying a handsome compliment' to 
the, illustrious triumvirate which we have named, con- 
cludes with the following' character of the distinguished 
person now under consideration : 

Of high determine spirit, rcr.ighly brave, 
fly ancient learning to the enlighten 1 *] love 
Or* ancient freedom \vann\l. 

Algernon Sydney was the second son of Robert earl 
of Leicester, by a. daughter of Henry Percy, earl of 
Northumberland. From those dawnings of genius, 
which early appeared to a father's penetrating eye, the 
greatest encouragement was given to the cultivation of 
his parts, and the most sedulous care was taken that 
they should produce an abundant- harvest. When a 
boy, he accompanied his noble sire in his embassy to 
Denmark, and afterwards to the court of France, 

The acuteness of young Sydney, and the bent of his 
disposition for an active life, induced the earl, then ap- 
pointed lord-lieutenant of Ireland, to procure him a 
-commission for a troop of horse in his own regiment. 
In consequence of this, in 161-1, he repaired to Ireland, 
together with his brother, lord viscount I. isle ; -and in 
the succeeding Irish rebellion, on various occasions, 
distinguished himself for his personal bravery. 

Having acquired the character of a rising hero, in 

two 



ALGERNON SYDNEY. 247 

two years' lime he had Charles's permission to revisit 
his native country in company with lord Lisle ; but the 
parliament found means to seize them in Lancashire : 
nor was it much doubted, from subsequent circum- 
stances, that they were perfectly satisfied with the hands 
into which they had fallen either through accident or 
choice ; for from this time they adhered to their new 
masters with unshaken fidelity, in opposition to a sove- 
reign, who both loved and respected them. The step 
which Algernon had taken ; was irretrievable, and it ap- 
pears to have influenced every future transaction of his 
life. 

He soon rose to be a colonel in this new service ; 
and when his brother was appointed the parliamentary 
lieutenant-general of Ireland, he served on an expedi- 
tion in that kingdom with the highest applause : and 
for his signal military exploits was promoted to the 
rank of lieutenant-general of the horse, and constituted 
governor of Dublin. But trusts of such importance 
were little suited to his youthful age ; he was soon su- 
perseded, and returned to England. Parliament, how- 
ever, still treated him with the greatest distinction ; and, 
as a recompence for the posts which he had lost, made 
him governor of Dover castle. 

When those who had usurped the powers of the state, 
in the plenitude of successful villainy, determined on 
bringing Charles to trial, Sydney was nominated one of 
his judges; but, though he was zealous republican on 
patriotic principles, lie found means to decline taking 
any part in that nefarious and unprecedented action. 
Warmed with the characters of some among the most 
exalted names of Greece and Rome, he professed to 
make Marcus Brutus his model ; and, when he found 
that his country had only changed an hereditary for 
an usurping tyrant, he opposed Cromwell with a de- 
termined spirit, and disdained to accept place or em- 
L $ ployment 



24S ALGERNON SYDNEY. 

ployment under the enslaver of his native land. This 
stern opposition to the protectorate proves that Sydney 
had in reality adopted principles, which others only pro- 
fessed as a mask to allure popularity. He was inimical 
to tyranny in any form, or under any appellation ; and 
could least of all acquiesce in that which was established 
on the ruins of an ancient monarchy. 

Consistent throughout, civil liberty was his idol, and 
whoever violated it was the object of his enmity. In 
the album of the university of "Copenhagen he wrote 
and signed these lines, which may be considered as a 
summary of his principles : 

Marcus hrcc, inimica tyrannic, 

Liise petit placidam sub libertate quietem.* 

From every indication of his mind there cannot be a 
doubt, but that he would have joined, heart and hand, in 
any well concerted plan for deposing Oliver Cromwell, 
and executing the same vengeance upon him as Charles 
had suffered. But the die was cast, and he brooded in 
silence over his country's wrongs. A dawn of hope, 
however, revived in his breast when the gentle and ho- 
nest Richard Cromwell resigned the protectorship. Syd- 
ney, pleasing himself with the idea that the parliament 
would now establish a republican form of government, 
was eager to hold an ostensible place in the administra- 
tion of affairs, and accordingly was nominated one of the 
council of state, and soon after sent as a commissioner 
to mediate a peace between Denmark and gweden ; but 
the happy restoration quickly dissipated the illusive 
phantom that had swum before his eyes. 

The earl of Leicester, after remaining loyal to the 
king under every change, would probably have had suf- 
ficient interest to get his son included in the act of 

* To tyrants, hostile, shall this arm be shewn : 
It seeks for peace through liberty alone. 

oblivion ; 



ALGERNON SYDNEY. 24<> 

oblivion; but he preferred a voluntary exile, in which 
he continued for seventeen years. For a considerable 
part of this long period he sojourned at Rome and its 
environs, where he received the most flattering atten- 
tions from persons of the highest rank, and was holden 
in no small estimation for his mental and personal qua- 
lifications. Tired, however, with a routine of fashion- 
able unmeaning forms, and desirous of witnessing his fa-" 
vourite republican maxims realized in some existing go- 
vernment, he withdrew to Switzerland ; where he asso- 
ciated with Ludlow and other political refugees. 

He afterwards passed into France, and during his stay 
in that country gave a proof of the b-luntncs.s of his man- 
ners, which a stern republican would dignify with the 
appellation of independence ; but, as long as a gradation 
of ranks is necessary in polished society, so long will 
respedl and civility be estimable and lovely* Being 
a hunting with Louis XIV. his majesty . took a parti- 
cular fancy to the horse which Sydney rode ; and sent 
a message to request that he would part with it, and fix, 
his price. Sydney only replied, " that his horse was not 
to be sold." The king, unaccustomed to such languages 
sent peremptory orders to tender him a sum of money, 
fully adequate to its worth; and, in case of his refusal, to 
bring the animal by force. Sydney, apprized of this re- 
solve, instantly took a pistol and shot his horse ; remark- 
ing u that it was born a free creature, had served a free 
man, and should not be mastered by a king of slaves." 

His father, the earl of Leicester, being sensible of his 
approaching end, expressed the strongest desire once 
more to see his son, and obtained a special pardon from 
Charles II. for all past offences. Accordingly, his filial 
duty overcame his rigid political. principles, and he re- 
turned; but brought with him all his prejudices. Dur- 
ing his residence in France, he had detected some mean 
artifices, which had for their object an extortion of mo- 
L 5 ney 



250 ALGERNON SYDNEY. 

ney from the people of England, under the sham pre- 
text of an approaching war; while he was convinced 
there was no real misunderstanding between the two 
courts. He inveighed with his usual asperity against 
such a fraudulent collusion, and exposed the king and 
his administration in all the virulence of invective. 

The earl of Leicester dying soon after, Sydney felt 
himself at liberty to censure, if he could not reform. 
The eyes of administration were necessarily turned on 
such an obnoxious character, and it was determined to 
keep him out of parliament by the most unwarrantable 
stretches of power. In this they twice succeeded, but 
our patriot's courage rose superior to all opposition; he 
exposed the duplicity of government with such force as 
carried conviction of its truth ; he was zealous in pro- 
moting the bill for excluding the duke of York from 
the throne ; he associated only with the most determined 
enemies of a corrupt court ; and by these means he pro-? 
voked its vengeance to such a d,egree, that a resolution 
was taken to ruin this formidable enemy, by any me- 
thods that ingenious malice, seconded by power, could 
devise. 

Accordingly, it was not long before an opportunity 
jpas found to let Sydney feel the strength of that oppo- 
sition which he had provoked. He was charged on the 
most incompetent ^evidence with being concerned in 
lyhat history has termed the Rye-house plot. His friend, 
the virtuous lotfd William Russell, who had niade him- 
self equally obnoxious by his manly defence of civil li- 
berty, had been first condemned on a similar accusation, 
jiotonly without evidence, but against it ; and- Sydney 
was singled out as the next victim of political vengeance. 

He was brought to trial in the court of king's-bench, 
before the sanguinary Jefferies, on the 21st of Novem- 
ber, 1683. Three of the witnesses in favour of the pro- 
secution cc/uld swear only to vague reports, picked up 

from 



ALGERNON SYDNEY. 251 

from others; which, nevertheless, were set down as evi- 
dence, though Sydney justly impeached the legality 
of such proceedings. At last lord Howard, a man of 
the most abandoned principles and- character, but a fit 
tool for such a purpose, positively swore that he had been 
present at two meetings, when business of a revolutionary 
nature was agitated by the conspirators ; and, in order to 
strengthen the evidence of a man who had lost all pre- 
tensions to be believed, the attorney-general, by a most 
shameful and unprecedented expedient, produced a pas- 
sage from Sydney's discourses on Government ; which, 
though an abstract principle, without the least reference 
to the immediate subj eel: of the charge, was deemed va- 
lid to convict him. Such a perversion of the law of evi- 
dence was never known in the worst times of our his- 
tory; but, perhaps, there was never a judge who dis- 
graced the bench like JefFeries ; and it is only wonder- 
ful how an insulted people could so tamely submit to 
his decisions! 

Sydney made a manly defence, and excepted against 
the unparalleled means that had been used to convict: 
him. In the most solemn manner he abjured' all per- 
sonal knowledge of the pretended plot, and he called 
God to witness, with uplifted hands and eyes, that he 
did not believe any such to exist in the contemplation of 
others.- Several noblemen, of unimpeachable veracity, ' 
invalidated the testimony of Howard, and spoke to the 
innocence of Sydney; but a packed jury, and a bloody 
judge, brought him in guilty; and he suffered death, 
with the most heroic fortitude and composure, on 
Tower-hill, December 7th, 1683. * 

His attainder was reversed in the first year of Wil- 
liam and Mary; and that solemn justice was done to his 
memory, which had been denied to himself. 

His character has thus been drawn by Burnet, who 

knew him well; and will supersede the necessity of less 

L 6 authenticated 



252 JOHN TILLOTSON-, 

authenticated remarks : " He was," says this prelate, 
" a man of extraordinary courage, and steady even to 
obstinacy; sincere, but of a rough and boisterous dis- 
position, and impatient of contradiction. He seemed 
to be a christian, but of a particular form : he thought 
it consisted in a certain divine philosophy in the mind, 
but he was against all public worship, and every thing 
that looked like a church. He was stiff to all republi- 
can principles; and such an enemy to every thing that 
looked like monarchy, that he set himself in a high op- 
position against Cromwell when he assumed the protec- 
torate. He had studied the history of government in 
all its branches, beyond any man I ev r er knew." 

His discourses on Government have been so highly 
esteemed by some, that they are regarded as an ample 
compensation for the loss of Cicero's six books de Zepub- 
Ika. It is certain^ they abound with energetic senti- 
ments, and marks of deep penetration ; but his collective 
principles are irreducible to practice, and. are, in many 
respects, only ingenious speculations. In short, Alger- 
non Sydney commands our respect rather than our love ; 
lie was too inflexible for a politician who really wished 
to serve his country, and had none of those amiable weak- 
nesses which conciliate affection, and blunt the edge of 
opposition and animosity. 



JOHN TILLOTSO.N, 

ARCHBISHOP OP CANTERBURY. 

Born 1630— Died 1694. 
From bth Charles L to b-tk Willizm III. 

IF ever there was a man whose life in a more peculiar 
manner evidenced the influence of genuine Christia- 
nity, who rose, without an effort or a wish, by dint of 

merit 



ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY. 253 

merit alone, and whose highest exaltation gave more 
pleasure to the virtuous and the good than to himself, 
it was archbishop Tillotson. Though all who enter 
the lists cannot reach his eminence, or equal his success, 
he furnishes one of the finest models for his profession, 
from its humblest to its highest sphere. The gifts of 
Fortune are often capriciously bestowed, and no one can 
be sure of her favours; but, whoever copies this amiable 
and accomplished divine, will be rich In what the smiles 
of the world cannot give, nor its frowns take away. 

John Tillotson, one among the brightest ornaments 
of the English church, was the son of a respectable 
clothier, and born at Sowerby, near Halifax, in York- 
shire. Both his parents were rigid nonconformists, and 
he was initiated in the same principles, which his ma- 
turer sense, and more liberal mind, soon taught him to 
reject. 

His proficiency in grammatical learning was great, 
and almost superior to his years. This aptness for study 
induced his father to send him to the university of 
Cambridge, where he was entered a pensioner of Clare- 
hall ; and in due course took the degrees of bachelor 
and master of arts ; having, before he commenced mas- 
rer, been chosen to a fellowship of his college. 

The love of truth was the ruling, passion of his heart, 
and he sought it with sedulous zeal. - Early disgusted 
with the narrow views of the- puritans, he had the good 
fortune to read a celebrated performance of Chilling- 
worth V, which fixed the future bias of his mind. Above 
the prejudices of education, he relinquished whatever 
was wrong, aad adhered to whatever was right, in the 
principles and conduct ef those among whom he had 
been bred * r and no man was more instrumental than he 
in removing the well meant though weak scruples of 
such as rejected communion with the church of Eng- 
land, or had a more tender regard for true liberty of 

conscience.. 



254 JOHN TILLOTSON, 

conscience, when serious persuasion, and the forc< 
argument, could not operate conviction of the truth. 

He loved the persons of the non-conformists after he 
ceased to have any predilection for their principles ; and 
for some of them, who had been connected with him by 
the early ties of duty or of friendship, he retained an 
affectionate regard, that nothing could dissolve ; but he 
chiefly sought his associates, after he had settled his own 
mind, among the most eminent divines of our establish- 
ment ; and between him and Dr. John Wilkins, the fu- 
ture bishop of Chester, there was an intimacy, and an 
unreserved exchange of opinions, which contributed to 
their mutual improvement. 

Tillotson, having left the university, about 1656, was 
engaged as tutor to the son of Edward Prideaux, esq. 
attorney-general to Cromwell, in which situation he 
spent some time. The time when he entered into holy 
orders cannot now be ascertained ; but it appears that 
his first employment in the church was that of a curate 
at Cheshunt in Hertfordshire. Here the young divine 
began to display those mild and gentle manners, that 
persuasive and impressive eloquence, which laid the 
foundation of his fortune and his fame. 

Being now settled in the vicinity of the metropolis, he 
was not unfrequently invited to mount the pulpit there ; 
for his reputation as a sacred orator, and the elegance of 
his compositions, made him peculiarly acceptable to such 
as were capable of appreciating merit and abilities. Dis- 
gusted with the pulpit eloquence of the times, he struck 
out a style and manner of his own, which have been 
justly esteemed a model for succeeding ages. Deeply 
acquainted with theological subjects, possessed of a 
sound judgment and a purity of taste, of which there 
were few examples among the preachers of that day, he 
soon attracted so much deserved notice, that in 1662 he 
was offered the parish of St* Mary, Alderrnanbury ; the 

patronage 



ARCHBISHOP OP CANTERBURY. 255 

patronage of which was vested in the parishioners. For 
some reasons, now unknown, he declined this benefice, 
but was soon presented to the rectory of Keddington, in 
Suffolk ; in which, however, he was scarcely settled, 
before the society of Lincoln's-inn appointed him their 
preacher. But so strongly were even the courts of law 
tainted with fanaticism, and so accustomed to the cant 
of those times, that at first the rational piety of Tillot- 
son was disliked, and complaints were sometimes heard 
against what is now allowed to constitute the principal 
beauty of his discourses. This, however, was tempo- 
rary: by degrees abetter taste began to prevail ; and 
our excellent divine not only overcame the prejudices of 
the society, but, being chosen lecturer of St. Lawrence, 
Jewry, he was followed by a numerous audience for in- 
struction, and by many of his own profession for im- 
provement. 

Faithful in the discharge of his sacred function, he set 
himself to oppose the two growing evils of Charles the 
Second's reign, atheism and popery : he not only com- 
bated them in the pulpit, but, from time to time, he pub- 
lished such tracts or sermons as were calculated for a 
mere extensive effect ; and his laudable and pious inten- 
tions did not lose their reward. 

In 1666, he proceeded doctor in divinity ; and, having 
married Elizabeth French, niece to Oliver Cromwell, 
and connected by affinity with his friend Dr. John 
Wilkins, he was appointed to preach the consecration 
sermon of that prelate to the see of Chester. Averse to 
solicitation himself, he found inJthe zeal of his friends 
an antidote against neglect ; for, in 1670, he was made 
prebendary of Canterbury, and two years afterwards 
dean of that church, having previously obtained a stall 
in St. Paul's. 

Dr. Tillotson had been seven years on the list of 
chaplains to Charles II. but the zeal which, on all occa- 
sions, 



156 JOHN TILLOTSON, 

sions, he had displayed against popery and irreligiony 
rendered him no favourite with that monarch; and he 
was rather pushed on by the interest of friends, who 
knew his value, than cordially loved by the court. He 
therefore contented himself with discharging the duty 
of his station, without indulging future hopes ;■ and ne- 
ver obtruded himself to notice, except when the. interests 
of religion, or the welfare of the establishment, were at 
stake. When a declaration for liberty of conscience was 
published, which, under the mask of moderation, had a 
view to the indulgence of papists, the dignified clergy 
took the alarm, and the king complained to the primate, ' 
Sheldon, of their refractory conduct. The archbishop- 
called some of them together, and begged their advice. 
Here the wisdom and firmness of Tillotson were emi- 
nently conspicuous. He suggested, " that since the 
king professed the protestant religion, it would be a. 
thing unprecedented to forbid the clergy to preach in 
defence of it." The sentiment was so just, and the ar- 
gument so conclusive, that it was unanswerable; and 
the clergy seem to have acquiesced in his opinion, 
should it be necessary to defend their conduct. Never- 
theless, Dr.' Tillotson was such a friend to moderation, 
that, early in 1668, he joined in a treaty tor the com- 
prehension of such protestant dissenters as could be 
brought within the pale of the church, by making mu- 
tual concessions; but the violence of the intemperate 
rendered this plan abortive. 

Meanwhile, his preaching and his writings equally 
tended to preserve the establishment from the encroach- 
ments of popery; and his private exertions in the same 
cause were remarkably successful. He had the happi- 
ness to convert the earl of Shrewsbury to the protes- 
tant faith ; and he lived to see his noble proselyte raised 
to a dukedom, and made secretary of state to king 
Williaxru 

ht 



ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY. 257 

In proportion as those labours raised him in the esti- 
mation of the people, it alienated the affection of the 
court, which was then suspected of an inclination to 
popery. But Tillotson did not shrink from his duty ; 
and the press was continually teeming with some work 
of his which had for its object to exalt pure religion, or 
to reclaim the wandering from the delusions of vice 
and error. 

On the discovery of the Rye-house plot, a melan- 
choly scene was disclosed, which affedted the tenderest 
sensibility of Tillotson. His virtuous and illustrious 
friend, lord William Russell, being deeply implicated 
in this charge, and afterwards brought to the block ; 
our divine attended on that noble personage with the 
most affectionate assiduity: he armed him with the con- 
solations of religion, and supported his afHicted family 
with every lenitive that the hopes of a better existence 
can bestow. 

Nor was this the only amiable part of his character. 
In 1685, he gave the most exemplary proof of his chris- 
tian temper. The revocation of the edict of Nantz 
having driven thousands of the Hugonots to this coun- 
try, many of them settled at Canterbury, where their 
posterity still continue. The king having granted briefs 
to collect alms for their relief, Tillotson was peculiarly 
active m promoting their success; and, When Dr. Beve- 
ridge, one of the prebendaries of Canterbury, refused to 
tfead the briefs, as being contrary to the rubric, he was 
silenced by the dean with this energetic reply, " Doctor, 
doctor, charity is above rubrics. " 

Such was the high character of dean Tillotson, that, 
when the settlement of the crown on king William for 
life was agitated in parliament, the princess Anne of 
Denmark, who had been advised by the Jacobites to 
oppose it, as prejudicial to her own interest, consulted 
him on this momentous occasion ; and, from a regard 

to 



258 JOHN TILLOTSON^ 

to his persuasions, she is said to have relinquished her 
prior claim. On the accession of William and Mary, to 
whose advancement he had been zealously attached, he 
was admitted into high favour and confidence at court, 
and made clerk of the closet. 

Still, however, the ambition of Tillotson led him no 
farther than to solicit an exchange of his deanery for 
that of St. Paul's, vacant by the promotion of Stilling- 
fleet to the see of Worcester. This moderate wish, 
which, in fac% tended to a diminution of his income, 
was readily granted; but his majesty had higher pro- 
motion in view for this amiable and disinterested divine. 
Archbishop Sancroft having refused to take the oaths 
of allegiance to William and Mary, after their title had 
been recognized by parliament, his suspension became 
necessary ; and, if he continued refractory, his removal 
also. The king entertained such an exalted opinion of 
Tillotson, that he immediately thought of r> a king him 
' primate. The reluctance with which our divine fell 
into his majesty's views, is forcibly expreseed in a letter 
to lady Russell. He had already refused a mitre; and, 
of all things, his ambition seems to have been least di- 
rected to the primacy. But the earnest representations 
of the king, and a zeal for his service, at last overcame 
his resolution ; and he was consecrated archbishop of 
Canterbury, in May, 1691. Immediately after, he was 
sworn of the privy-council ; and set about the duties of 
his high office with the same religious zeal, tempered 
with moderation, as had adorned his former life. 

When Dr. Tillotson refused the archbishopric, he had 
wisely appreciated the difficulties of the station, ajid the 
obloquy to which it would expose him. He foresaw 
that the successor of Sancroft, whoever he might be, 
would be aimtt for all the virulence and malice of the 
nonjurors ; and it was not long after his promotion be- 
fore he felt his apprehension verified, 

He 



AKCH3ISH0P OF CANTERBURY. 25(J 

, . was insulted by the most incendiary letters, by the 

ssest libels, by the keenest invectives; yet his chris- 
tian temper never forsook him. Ke interceded for those 
who had been convicted of the most bitter calumnies 
against him ; and on a bundle of papers, found after 
his death, was this inscription : "These are libels; I 
v God forgive the writers, as I do." 

That a man whose blameless life, whose exalted me- 
rit, had been so long known and allowed by the public, 
should at once become the object of the most unmerited 
detraction, can only be accounted for from the enmity 
of political opposition, and that envy which must ever 
attend high station. His^mild inoffensive manners, too, 
t possibly provoke the injuries of the base. Among 
those who are destitute of magnanimity themselves, 
forbearance gives confidence to insult. How often does 
malice shoot its arrows at the patient spirit, while 
daring guilt escapes its attack ! The gentle sheep is 
the prey of the most contemptible animals ; but the 
lordly lion dares the approach of an. aggressor. 

Though the ungenerous treatment which this truly 
dignified character received from his enemies probably 
disturbed his internal quiet, it had no influence on his 
exterior conduct. He pursued the suggestions of reli- 
gion and virtue, and soared above the petty malice of the 
despicable. He shewed no pride in his elevation, no al- 
teration in his way of thinking or of acting ; and, as if he 
meant to read an impressive lesson to all posterity, and to 
correct that false estimate of life which places happiness 
in grandeur, he left among his papers the subsequent 
rejections upon rank. " One would be apt to wonder," 
says this amiable prelate, " that Nehemiah should reckon 
a huge bill of fare, and a vast number of promiscuous 
guests, among his virtues and good deeds, for which he 
desires God to remember him , but, upon better consi- 
deration, besides the bounty, and sometimes chanty, of 

a great 



200 JOHN TILLOTS02C. 

a great table, provided there be nothing of vanity or 
ostentation in it, there may be exercised two very con- 
siderable virtues; one in temperance, and the other self- 
denial; in a man's being contented, for the sake of the 
public, to deny himself so much, as to sit down every 
day to a feast, and to eat continually in .a crowd, and al- 
most never to be alone, especially when, as it often hap- 
pens, a great part of the company that a man must have, 
is the company that a man would not have., I doubt it 
will prove but a melancholy business when a man comes 
to die, to have made a great noise and bustle in the 
world/and to have been known far and near; but all 
this while to have been hid and concealed from himself. 
It is a very odd and fantastical sort of a life, for a man 
to be continually from home, and most of all a stranger 
at his own house. It is surely an uneasy thing to sit 
always in a frame, and to be perpetually upon a man's 
guard; not to be able to speak a careless word, or to use 
a negligent posture, without observation and censure. 
Men are apt to think that they who are in the highest 
places, and have the most power, have most liberty to 
say and do what they please ; but it is quite otherwise, 
for they have the least liberty, because they are most 
observed. It is not mine own observation; a much- 
wiser man, I mean Tully, says, * In maxima quaque for- 
tuna minimum licere;' that is, they that are in the high- 
est and greatest conditions have, of all others, the least 
liberty. All these, and many more, are the evils which 
attend on greatness ; and the envy that pursue s it, is 
the result of ignorance and vanity. " 

From his first advancement to the primacy, Dr. Til- 
lotson had be 2am to conceive the most enlarged designs 
for the welfare of the church and the interest of religion ; 
and in these noble views he received every encourage- 
ment and support from the throne; but Providence in 
its infinite wisdom called him from this sublunary state 

bef 



ARCHBISHOP OP CANTERBURY. 20 I 

before he had a full opportunity of employing the 
powers, with which he was invested, to the best pur- 
poses for which they were given. He did not survive 
his advancement much more than three years, a term 
too limited to effectuate important changes, which 
should, always be gradual and almost imperceptible. 
While attending divine service at Whitehall, on Sunday, 
November 18, 1 >94, he was seized with the dead palsy. 
The fit was slow in its advances, but fatal in its effects. 
His articulation became indistinct, but his soul shone se- 
rene and calm amid the conflict. In broken words he 
thanked his Maker that he felt his conscience at ease, 
and that he had nothing farther to do but to wait the 
will of heaven. 

Much as Dr. Tillotson had been traduced during life 
by the disaffected and the depraved, the minds of men 
underwent such a sudden conversion, that his death 
created universal sorrow. Never was a subject more 
sincerely lamented, or a funeral more numerously, at- 
tended. All ranks came voluntarily forward to pay 
the memory of this good man, whose virtues and station 
no longer excited envy, the homage of their tears; and 
to assist at the last solemnity! He was buried at the 
church of St. Lawrence, Jewry, where he had formerly 
displayed his eloquence, and attracted the attention of 
the public. 

Not only malice subsided, or was ashamed of the en- 
mity which it had borne him, but all descriptions of 
men joined in his eulogy; and well did he deserve the 
loudest plaudits of gratitude and virtue. His whole 
life was exemplary. In his domestic relations, in his 
friendships, and his whole commerce with the world, 
he was easy and humble, frank and open, humane and 
bountiful. He distributed his charity with such a liberal 
hand, and despised the accumulation of money to such 
a degree, that he left nothing for his family, after the 

liquidation 



262 JOHN LOCKE. 

liquidation of his debts, except the copy-right of his 
sermons, which was sold for 2,500 guineas. 

As a theologist, archbishop Tillotson ranks very high, 
even in the opinion of foreign nations. His sermons 
have been frequently committed to the press, and will 
always be read with pleasure and improvement, so long 
as regard shall be paid to sound divinity, adorned by 
good sense. They have been translated into several 
languages, and received this deserved and apposite pa- 
negyric from the able and critical Le Clerc. " The 
merit of Tillotson," says ' he, "is above any commen- 
dation in my power to bestow ; it is formed on the union 
of an extraordinary clearness of conception, a great pe- 
netration, an exquisite talent of reasoning, a profound , 
knowledge of true divinity, a solid piety, a most singular 
perspicuity, and an unaffected elegance of style, with 
every other quality that was decorous in a man of his 
cider. His pulpit harangues are for the most part 
exact dissertations, and are capable of bearing the test 
of the most rigorous examination.'' 



JOHN LOCKE. 

Born 1632— Died 1704. 
Fr&m Jt/i Charles I, to 2d Anne, 

A PHILOSOPHER will ever attract veneration in 
proportion to the solidity of his principles, and 
the conformity that his practice bears to his doctrines. 
Locke, " who made the whole internal world his own," 
who scanned our perceptions and our powers with in- 
tuitive clearness, who fixed civil liberty on the basis of 
reason, and made religion appear amiable by his life 
and conversation, will live to the latest ages, in the grate- 
ful 



JOHN LOCKE. 263 

Ful memory of his country and of mankind, whom he 
enlightened and improved. 

This celebrated philosopher was descended from a 
genteel family in Somersetshire, but which had been con- 
siderably reduced. His father was originally bred to 
the profession of the law, but, on the breaking cut of 
the civil wars, took up arms in the service of the parlia- 
ment, and rose to be a captain. The son was born at . 
Wrington near Bristol ; and, from his tenderest infancy, 
experienced the happy effects of paternal solicitude and 
attention to his improvement. In due time he was sent 
to Westminster school, where he remained till the age 
of nineteen, and was then entered of Christ-church ; 

, where he soon distinguished himself by the promptness 
of his ingenuity, and the variety and extent of his ac- 
quirements. 

Having taken his degree in arts, he commenced 
the study of physic as a profession; and, after going 
through the preparatory courses, resolved to practise at 
Oxford. 

The strength of his constitution, however, being found 
unequal to the fatigues of the profession, and his success 
probably not being very great, he gladly accepted an 
offer of being secretary to Sir William Swan, who was 
appointed envoy to the court of Brandenburg in 1664. 

This employ was of no long duration, but it was not 
without its advantages. It gave Mr. Locke an insight 

ipnto men and business, and paved the way to his better 
reception afterwards in the world. 

Resuming his professional studies at Oxford, he began 
to distinguish himself also by his contempt of the scho- 
lastic jargon, and his general progress in sound philo- 
sophy. While thus laudably employed, an incident 
happened that changed the complexion of his fortune, 
and gave greater scope to the energies of his mind. He 

| had still wanted a patron, without which genius and 
5 merit 



2t64 JOHN LOCKE. 

merit seldom rise : and he found one, without expecting 
it, Jn, lord Ashley, afterwards the celebrated earl of 
Shaftesbury. 

His lordship, having an abscess in his breast, was ad- 
vised to drink the waters of Astrop, near Banbury, and 
seat to a physician at Oxford to provide him some 
against his arrival in that city. This gentleman, being 
called away by other business, delegated his commission 
to Mr. Locke, who soon made such an impression on 
lord Ashley by the urbanity ©f his manners and the 
strength of his understanding, that he was invited to ac- 
company his lordship to Astrop; and having, "by his 
medical advice, been instrumental in saving his patron's 
life, was afterwards taken into his house, and introduced 
to the acquaintance of "other noble and distinguished 
persons. His lordship indeed was so partial to Mr. 
Locke, that he would not allow him to submit to trie 
drudgery of practising physic out of his own family,' ex- 
cepting among a few particular friends. 

In this situation of elegance and refinement, he corn- 
tinued several years with little intermission, and sketch- 
ed his grand work, the " Essay on Human UunderstanJ- 
ing;" but was prevented from making any consider-' 
able progress in it, by being appointed secretary of pre- 
sentations, when his patron was raised to the dignity of' 
lord chancellor. 

When lord Shaftesbury was deprived of the seals, Mr. 
Locke, who had enjoyed his most unreserved confidences! 
fell into disgrace with him. However, his lordship be- 
ing still president of the board of trade, he was appoint- . 
ed secretary, which he held till the commission was dis- 
solved in 1671, when his public employments were at] 
an end. # 

Like a man who wisely had a view to the instability] 
of fortune, he still retained his studentship at Christ-| 
church, whither he occasionally resorted, allured by 

booksJ 

I 



.JOHN LOCKE. 265 

books, literary conversation, and a pure air. Here he 
took his degrees of bachelor in medicine, in 167 o ;• and, 
feeling a hectic tendency the same year, he visited Mont- 
pelier ; at which place he made some stay, and con- 
tracted several valuable friendships. Though he did 
not intermit an attention to his profession,, in which he 
had acquired considerable reputation with the intelli- 
gent, it seems his thoughts were chiefly directed to his 
" Essay ;" but this work as yet remained in embryo. 

In 1679, his noble patron, being again called into of- 
fice, sent for Mr. Locke ; but, being disgraced and im« 
prisoned in a few months, he had no opportunity of 
.serving his friend ; and, flying into Holland to avoid 
prosecution, was immediately followed by his client. 

Involved in the disgrace, and implicated in the 
charges brought against Lord Shaftesbury, Mr. Locke 
became so obnoxious to the court, that he was removed 
from h^ ^udentship by a stretch of royal authority; 
a proc^^, ov-jnW 1 ' ne thought very irregular and un- 
just. 

After this specimen i)f what he had to expect: from 
government, our philosopher thought it prudent to re- 
main in exile, till the accession of James II. when, by 
the friendly interference of Sir Wi-lliam Penn, he was 
offered a pardon, which, with the spirit of a man con- 
scious of innocence/he refused ; alledging, that the ac- 
ceptance of a pardon would be a tacit confession that he 
had been guilty of some crime. 

On the duke of Monmouth's invasion he was again 
£he object of jealousy, and the English envoy at the 
Hague demanded him to be delivered up. Having in- 
telligence of this, he absconded, and employed himself 
on his " Essay, " till the suspicion against him appeared 
to be wholly groundless ; when he again returned. 

In 1687, he became a member of the literary society 

at Amsterdam, composed of Limbroch, Le Clerc, and 

M others, 



1266 JOHN LOCKE. 

others, who met weekly to discourse on subjects of uni- 
versal learning ; and the same year he finished his great 
work, which had, at intervals, engaged his attention for 
the long space of nine years. Soon after, he published 
an abridgment of it in French, as if to feel the pulse of 
the public ; and finding that the expectation which he 
wished to raise was confirmed, he put the entire work to 
press, on his arrival in England with the princess of 
Orange, in February, 1689. 

Justly regarded as a sufferer on revolution principles, 
as well as a man of worth and extraordinary abilities, 
he had considerable pretensions to the notice of govern- 
ment, and it is said might have obtained a post of im- 
portance ; but such was the mediocrity of his ambition, 
that he declined a public mission to any court most ac- 
ceptable to himself, and was satisfied with the place of 
commissioner of appeals, worth about two hundred 
pounds a year. 

The state of his health, which wr^lieve. /ery good, 
being at this time extremely indifferent, he had the hap- 
piness to attract the notice of Sir Francis Masham and 
his lady, who kindly offered him an apartment at Oates, 
in Essex. This tender he accepted ; and here he spent 
almost the whole remainder of his days, in a society to 
which he was endeared and endearing, with a tranquil- 
lity suiting the philosopher, and a felicity which rarely 
falls even to a philosopher's lot. 

In this social retirement, he pursued his studies with- 
out interruption : and the first fruits of them was his 
famous treatise " on Government ;" one of the best on 
that subject which any language can afford. His let- 
ters " on Toleration," too, which appeared at intervals, 
Together with a variety of controversial, political, and 
religious pieces, gained him an increasing celebrity ; 
which the puny efforts of literary opponents served only 
l& raise. 

King 



JOHN L(|CKE. 2(tf 

King William, in 169.5, as 1 compliment to his public 
talents, made him one of the corafnissioners of trade 
and plantations, which office he retained live years ; 
but now, feeling an asthma, whicrf had long afflicted 
him, beginning to subdue his vital powers, he resigned 
his place, and fixed himself wholly at Gates ; where 
he employed die remains of life in studying the Scrip- 
tures, which had ever been the rule of hi^ conduct, ;<; J 
now were the solace of his declining days. 

His dissolution approaching by sensible, though slow, 
advances, he prepared himself for the last conflict, with 
the arms which Christianity supply, and with the calm- 
ness of a true philosopher. The day before his death, 
while lady Masham was sitting b) his bed-side, he ex- 
ported her to regard this world only as a state of prepay 
ration for a better ; adding, that he had lived long 
enough, and expressed his gratitude to God for the hap- 
piness which had fallen to his lot. He expired, with- 
out a groan, on the 28th of October, 1701, and was 
interred in the church of Oates, where a monument is 
erected to his memory, with a modest inscription written 
by himself. He died sincerely lamented by the goo(i 
;md wise ; and his fame has suifered no diminution from 
the lapse of nearly an hundred years. 

His character, his manners, and sentiments, are briefly 
conveyed in the subsequent abstract, taken from an ac- 
count of this great man, by a person who knew him 
well. It advantageously supplies the place of any ori- 
ginal reflections, and furnishes a model for imitation. 

" Mr. Locke had great knowledge of the world, and 
of its business. He won esteem b^his probity. His 
wisdom, his experience, his gentle and obliging man* 
ners, gained him the respect of his inferiors, the esteem 
of his equals, the friendship and confidence of the most 
exalted ranks. At first he was free of good advice ; 
but experience of the unfavourable manner in which ir 
M2 h 



"2-68 SIR JOHN HOLT. 

is generally received, made him afterwards more re- 
served. 

" In conversation, he was inclined to the solid and 
serious ; but when occasion naturally offered, he gave 
in to the free and facetious, with pleasure and grace- 
He was no enemy to delicate and innocent raillery, or 
to anecdote aptly introduced, and naturally told. 

" He loved to talk with mechanics, and used to say, 
* that the knowledge of the arts contained more true 
philosophy than learned hypotheses.' By putting ques- 
tions to artificers, he would sometimes discover a se- 
cret, not welf understood, and assist to give them views 
entirely new, for their own profit, when earned into 
practice. 

" He was so far from affecting a studied gravity, that 
he frequently turned it into ridicule ; and admired and 
quoted on such occasions the famous maxim of Roche- 
foucault, * that gravity is a mystery of the body, in or- 
der to conceal the defects of the mind.' 

" In every thing he delighted to employ his reason- 
ing faculty : nor was any thing useful, beneath his care ; 
so that he appeared capable of small things as well as 
great. It was a common observation with him, ' that 
there was an art in every thing ;' and the manner in 
which he set about the most trifling object gave a con- I 
firmation to his remark." 



SIR JOHN H O LT, 

LORD CHIEF JUSTICE OF THE KING'S BENCH. 

Born 1642— Died 1709. 

From \*Jth Charles J. to fth Anne. 

IT has been said by a celebrated poet, that " an ho-8 
nest man's the noblest work of God." — However J 
this sentiment in its abstract acceptation may be contro- 
verted 






SIR JOHN HOLT. 2(X) 

verted on substantial grounds, as simple honesty is ra- 
ther, perhaps, a passive than an active virtue, yet it 
will not be disputed, " that an honest and able lawyer 
is one of the most valuable members of society. " Both- 
honesty and ability, however, without the concurrence 
of fortune, are frequently lost to the world ; but it was 
the happier lot of Holt to fill a station which developed 
and emblazoned his virtues and his talents. He was 
characterized by the Tatler under the glorious title of 
Verus ; by his profession he has ever been considered as 
a luminary of the first order ; and by his country, as a 
spotless patriot. r 

Thame, in Oxfordshire, had the honour of producing 
this great ornament of the law. He was the son of Sir 
Thomas Holt, who flourished in the same profession 
during the reign of Charles II. and became recorder of 
Abingdon ; whither he afterwards removed with his 
family. At the grammar-school of that borougli young. 
Holt received the rudiments of his education, and was 
nearly distinguished for a vivacity of disposition, and a 
precocity of attainments. In due course he became 
gentleman-commoner of Oriel college, Oxford, under 
the tuition of Mr. Francis Barry. What progress he 
made at the university is uncertain : it seems probable* 
that he was more distinguished for sprightliness than 
application ; but he did not remain here long ; for in 
the seventeenth year of his age, he entered himself of 
Gray's inn, where his assiduity soon became as conspi- 
cuous as his abilities. He studied the common law- 
with indefatigable industry, and speedily gained the re- 
putation of an able hamster. 

In the reign of James II. he was made recorder of 

London by the king's letters-patent, the city having lost 

the privilege of electing its own officers ; which was not 

restored till the revolution. In this capacity he dis- 

M 3 charged. 



2/0 SIR JTOHNOHOLT. 

charged liis duty with high applause, and received tfie 
honour of knighthood ; but, refusing to set his hand to 
the abolition of the test, and to sanction the dispensing 
power of the king, he gave such offence at court, that 
he was removed from his place, - But he did not lose 
the fruits of his firm and honest conduct. A good man 
may be degraded, but cannot be disgraced, From 
this time Holt filled a larger space in the public eye ; 
and his integrity marked him out for due reward-, when 
u happier era should commence. 

He was chosen a member of the convention parlia- 
ment, in 1688, and appointed one of the managers on 
the part of the commons at the conferences holden with 
the upper house, respecting the abdication of James 
fcr.d the vacancy of the throne. Here he had an ample 
Held h\ which to display his legal talents, and the most ' 
glorious opportunity that ever man enjoyed of shewing 
his attachment to the principles of the constitution, 
which are equally remote from despotic power and de« 
mocratical controuL 

His judicious and patriotic behaviour on this occa- 
sion was the probable means of his advancement on the 
happy accession of William and Mary. Next year he 
was constituted lord chief justice of the king's bench, 
and sworn a member of the privy-council. Though still 
a young man for such an important station, his contem- 
poraries allow that he filled it with signal honour to 
himself, '*ind benefit to his country. Attached to civil 
liberty, he suffered no bias of gratitude, no influence, 
however great, to divert him from the line of duty ; and 
in some very remarkable causes, intimately affecting 
the life and liberty of the subject, he decided with that 
purity and independence which ought ever to direct a 
minister of justice* 

Forcible and perspicuous in his definitions, and pos- 
sessing: 



SIR JOHN HOLT. %?% 

sessJng a discriminating judgment, which stript off the 
glosses of chicane, his inferences had all the weight of 
authority, because they bore the seal" of truth, 

In the famous Banbury case, he exhibited an illustri- 
ous instance of public spirit and indexible rectitude. 
Lord Banbury was indicted by the name of Charles 
Knoliys, esq. for the murder of his brother-in-law, cap- 
tain Lawson. The house ci lords had previously dis- 
allowed his peerage ; but, on his demurring to their 
decision and claiming trial by his peers, lord chief jus- 
tice Holt, after the case had been solemnly and repeat- 
edly argued by the crown lawyers and the counsel for 
defendant, declared in favour of lord Banbury ; and 
proved, by the most incontrovertible arguments, that a 
supreme court, in the last resort, has no jurisdiction in 
an original case. " The house of peers," said he, M has 
jurisdiction over its own members, and is a suj rerae 
court : but it is the law which has invested them with 
such ample authorities ; and therefore, it is no diminu- 
tion of their power to say, that they ought to observe 
those limits which the law has prescribed to them, r^nd 
which, in other respects has made them so great." As 
to the law of parliament which had been talked of, he 
did not know of any such law ; for every law that 
binds the subjects of this realm, ought either to be the 
common law and usage of the realm, or an act of par- 
liament. What had been said by the king's counsel re- 
specting the law of parliament, he considered as only 
intended to frighten the judges, but that he did not re- 
gard it ; for though he had all respect and deference 
for that honourable body, yet he sat there to administer 
justice according to the laws of the land, and accord- 
ing to his oath - f and that he. should regard nothing but 
the discharge of his duty. 

In consequence of this spirited resolution, lord chief 

justice Holt was afterwards summoned to give his rea- 

M * son» 



4 272 SIR JOHN HOLT. 

sons for this judgment before a committee of the House 
of peers ; but he disdained to comply with extrajudi- 
cial proceedings, and maintained the independence of 
the bench. Some of the lords were so much irritated 
at his manly firmness, that they threatened to send him 
to the Tower ; but the more dispassionate f and sensible 
part of the house saw the danger of proceeding to such 
extremities : and as they were determined not to recog- 
nise lord Banbury's title, the business dropt, both with 
regard to his lordship and judge Holt. 

' When lord chancellor Somers resigned the great seal, 
in 1700, king William pressed lord chief justice Holt to 
accept it 5 but his lordship who had no ambition to quit 
his present honourable station, replied, " that he never 
had had but one chancery suit in his life, which he lost, 
and consequently could not think himself qualified for 
so great a trust.' ' 

In the second year of queen Anne a very important 
cause was agitated by the judges, relative to the right 
of returning officers to refuse a legal vote in the election 
of members for parliament. This, after being decided' 
at the assizes in favour of the plaintiff, who had been 
rejected, was removed into the court of king's bench, 
and attracted much notice, from being the first question 
of the kind that had been tried there. Three of the 
judges were of opinion, that no injury was done to the 
plaintiff, or at least none that required legal redress, 
and were for reversing the sentence for damages ; but 
Holt, with an acumen which did him honour, and a love 
of liberty that ought to endear him to the latest poste- 
rity, maintained, " that if the plaintiff hud a right, he 
must, of necessity, have a means to vindicate and sup- 
port it, and a remedy, if he is injured in the exercise or 
enjoyment of it : ; and it was a vain thing to imagine a 
right without a remedy ; for want of right, and want 
.of remedy were reciprocal." 

Thii 



SIR JOHN HOLT. 2J3 

This opinion involved him with the commons, as the 
Banbury case had with the lords ; but he came off su- 
perior in the conflict, and gained the highest applause 
and credit with "his countrymen. The two houses at 
last became warm in the dispute, and the queen saw no 
other alternative to allay the ferment, than by dissolv- 
ing the parliament. 

On every occasion, Holt strenuously defended the 
constitutional liberties of the subject, and shewed the 
utmost aversion to the exercise of military power, un- 
der pretence of assisting the civil. A riot happening in; 
Holborn, on account of young persons, of both sexes, 
being trepanned and confined in a certain house, till 
they could be shipped off to the plantations, a party of 
the guards were commanded to march to the spot : but 
an officer was first dispatched to the lord chief justice, 
requesting him to send some of his people ; in order to 
give this affair a better appearance. " Suppose," said 
the judge to the officer, " the populace will not disperse, 
what are you to do then ?" " Sir," answered he, " we 
have orders to fire on them." " Have you so," returned 
his lordship ;" " then take notice of what I say : if there 
be one man killed, and you be tried before me, I will 
take care that you, and every soldier of your party, 
shall be hanged." Having dismissed the officer, with. 
a reprimand for his employers, he ordered his tipstaves 
with a few constables, to attend him ; and, proceeding 
to the scene of tumult, expostulated with the mob, as-^ 
sured them of justice, and pacified them to such a de- 
gree that they quietly dispersed- 

This upright judge, having filled the chief seat of 
justice for the space of twenty-one years, with the highest 
credit to himself, and utility to the public, was carried 
off by a lingering illness,, in the sixty-eighth year of his 
age. His body was interred in the church of Redgrave, 
in die county of Suffolk ; where a sumptuous monu- 
M 5 jnent 



274 SIR JOHN HOLT. 

ment was ere&ed to his memory. By his lady, a daugh- 
ter of Sir John Cropley, he left no issue. 

A judicious biographer has thus summed up the cha- 
racter of lord chief justice Holt, which, from an impar- 
tial review of his life, appears to be perfedly just. " He 
was/' says this writer, « one of the ablest and most up- 
right judges, that ever presided in a court of justice. 
He was a perfect master of the common law, and ap- 
plied himself with great assiduity to the fun&ions of 
his important office. Possessed of uncommon clearness 
of understanding, and great solidity of judgment, such 
was the integrity and firmness of his mind, that he could 
never be brought to swerve, in the least, from what he 
esteemed law and justice- He was remarkably strenu- 
ous in nobly asserting, and as rigorously supporting, 
the rights ani liberties of the subject, to which he paid 
the greatest regard ; and would not eyen suffer a re- 
flection, tending to depreciate them, to pass uncensured, 
or without a severe reprimand.'" 

As a legal writer he was less distinguished, than as a 
dispenser of law. The duties of his station left him but 
little leisure ; yet he is not unknown to students by his 
works. In 1708, he published Sir John Keyling's Re- 
ports, with some annotations of his own, and three 
modern cases which had attracted great notoriety. 

Some juvenile frolics are generally ascribed to Holt, 
but we vouch not for their authenticity ; yet as they 
convey the only existing traits of his private character, 
we shall briefly recite an anecdote of this kind, which, 
whether true or false, can reflect but little disgrace upon 
Ins memory. 

Being once out on a party of pleasure with some 
young men, and their money being all spent, it was 
agreed to part company, and try their fortunes sepa- 
rately. Holt put up, with a bold face, at the first ina 
that came in his way ; and, seeing the only daughter of 

the 



Sill JOHN HOLT, 175 

the family, who was then about thirteen years old, shi- 
vering under a fit of the ague, he immediately con- 
ceived an idea how this circumstance might be turned 
to account. Interrogating the mother, he discovered 
that the girl had long laboured under this complaint, 
and that the art of medicine had been tried in vain. On 
thiS'he shook his head at the doctors, and bade her take 
courage, for that she should never have another fit. He 
then wrote an unintelligible scrawl in court hand on a. 
bit of parchment^ and ordered it to be bound round the 
daughter's wrist. It happened that the charm took 
effect ; and Holt, without a penny in his pocket, at the 
end of the* week called for his bill ; but found the gra- 
titude of the family, for his skill and service, precluded 
them from making any demand. He was even consi- 
dered as a benefactor of the first order, and they parted 
with mutual good-will. 

In the course of many years, when raised to be a 
judge, he went the circuit in the same county ; and 
among other criminals at the assizes, was an old wo- 
man accused of witchcraft. She was indicted for hav- 
ing a spell, by which she could citre such cattle as were 
sick, or destroy such as were well ; and this magical 
charm, being seized upon her, was ready to be produced 
in court. Holt ordered it to be shewn him ; and hav- 
ing divested it of numerous coverings, found it to con-* 
sist of that identical piece of parchment which he had 
used to cure the girl of an ague. He immediately re- 
collected the incident, and, with a magnanimity which 
exalted his character,, confessed the trick which he had 
played. The jury, of course, acquitted the culprit: 
the people blushed at the folly and cruelty of their zeal ; 
and judge Holt's, landlady was the last that ever was 
tried in those parts for the nonsensical crime of witch- 
craft. 

Mtf 

GILBERT 



( 176 ) 
GILBERT BURNET, 

BISHOP OF SALISBURY. 

Born 1643— Died 1715. 
From 18//; Charles 7. to 2d George I. 

THERE are some men who appear great only while 
the splendor of rank, or the bustle of station, daz- 
zles the eyes of the spectators; others become magnified 
as they recede from the public view, and are seen like 
stars in a distant sky. Of this last description is bishop 
Burnet; a man too much implicated in die various po- 
litical convulsions, which agitated his time, to escape 
censure, but whose memory is generally allowed to be 
clear from any considerable stain. 

Gilbert Burnet was descended from an ancient family 
in Aberdeenshire. His father was a lawyer; and, as a' 
reward for his constant attachment to the royal party, at 
the restoration was appointed one of the lords of session. 
His mother was sister to the famous Sir Alexander 
Johnston, and an enthusiast for the theological tenets 
of Calvin. 

During the interregnum, Mr. Burnet, having refused 
to acknowledge Cromwell's authority, had no other em- 
ployment than the instruction of his son, which he at- 
tended to with the most patient industry; and at ten 
years of age sent him to the university of Aberdeen, whi- 
ther he also removed himself, to assist in superintend- 
ing his education. This was so strictly pursued, that the 
youth was obliged to rise at four in the morning; a 
practice which became habitual to him, and gave him 
more time for study and a larger enjoyment of life than 
fall to the share of most men. Whatever is stolen from 
sleep, is certainly added to existence j and though late 

hours, 



BISHOP BURNET. 277 

hours aTe justly deemed injurious to health, early rising 
is at once conducive to pleasure and to profit. 

Burnet's original destination was the church; yet he 
was so much attached to the study of civil and feudel 
law, that nothing could divert his attention from it; and 
from this source he often declared that he had deduced 
juster principles of civil society and government, than 
many of his profession would allow him to possess. 

Having satisfied his mind on those subjects, he applied 
to divinity with equal ardour; and, as a relaxation, 
perused a prodigious number of books on subjects of 
general knowledge ; so that he was master of a vast 
fund of learning before he reached his eighteenth year. 
Being admitted a probationer preacher,he declined a be- 
nefice which was offered him ; and having lost his fa- 
ther in 1663, lie visited Oxford and Cambridge, where 
he staid about six months. 

Next year lie made the tour to Holland and France, 
and perfected himself in Hebrew, by the assistance of a 
rabbi at Amsterdam. Here likewise he became ac- 
quainted with the most distinguished divines of the va- 
rious sects, which toleration had united iivfriendly inter- 
course ; and, having such a lovely pattern before his 
eyes, he became fixed in a strong principle of universal 
charity, and an invincible abhorrence of all intolerance 
in religion. 

On his return to Scotland, he was admitted into holy- 
orders, and presented to the living of Saltoun. His abi- 
lities would not suffer him to be inactive or useless. 
He meditated between the episcopalians and the presby- 
terians with considerable eifect, but rendered himself 
obnoxious to the zealots of both parties. Such is too 
frequency the only reward of candour and liberality of 
sentiment. 

Being promoted to the divinity chair of Glasgow, he 

filled 
1 



278 BISHOP BURNET. 

filled that station upwards of four years, and made him- 
self very acceptable to the duchess of Hamilton ; which 
was the basis of his future promotion. The earl of 
Lauderdale invited him to London, where he had the 
choice of four Scottish bishoprics, offered him, but he 
declined them all. On his return to Glasgow, he 
espoused lady Margaret Kennedy, daughter of the earl 
of Cassilis, and shewed the most generous disinterested- 
ness by the manner in which he disposed of her fortune* 

His merit and abilities had for some time pointed him 
out as a proper person to wear the mitre, but he .still de- 
clined promotion in Scotland. However, on the king's 
own nomination, he was made chaplain in ordinary ; 
but on giving some disgust to the court, his name was 
soon after erased from the list. 

Finding his enemies beginning to prevail he relin* 
quished his professor's chair at Glasgow, and resolved 
to settle in London. His reputation as a sacred writer 
and divine was so great, that, notwithstanding the oppo- 
sition of the court, he was appointed preacher at the 
Rolls chapel, and soon after chosen lecturer of St. Cle- 
ments. 

His fame being fully established, and his popularity 
increasing, in 1679 he published the first volume of hi* 
History of the reformation; for which he obtained the 
thanks of parliament. About this time he was acci- 
dentally introduced to the acquaintance of the dissolute 
earl of Rochester; and had such a happy influence on 
his mind, that the earl in consequence became a sincere 
penitent, and a convert to Christianity. 

Burnet, though odious to the court, was highly re- 
spected by the people, and for some time this was his 
shield of defence ; but, having given fresh provocation 
by his amiable solicitude for lord William Russel, he re- 
tired to France^ where the most flattering distinctions 

were 



BISHOr BURNET. 279 

were paid him: but, resuming his clerical functions in 
London, he inveighed with so much asperity against 
popery, that he was silenced by royal authority. 

On the accession of James, he retired from the king- 
dom, and travelled into Italy. Pope Innocent II. vo- 
luntarily offered him a private audience, that the cere- 
mony of kissing the slipper might he dispensed with : 
but Burnet waved this polite advance in the most civil 
manner that he could. He, however, visited some of 
the cardinals without reserve, and made no disguise of 
his sentiments. This freedom could not long be tolerat- 
ed, and he received an intimation from prince Borghese r 
that it would be prudent to withdraw. However com- 
mendable it is to be zealous for the truth, there surely 
can be no merit in that intemperate ardoui* which over- 
looks the decorums of time and place. To dispute 15 
not to convince : and Burnet, on this occasion, seems to 
have forgot what was due to the prejudices or institu- 
tions of a country in which he had no interest, and 
whose government he was bound to respect, so long as 
he remained under its protection. 

After travelling through Italy and Switzerland, he 
arrived at Utrecht, with a design of taking up his resi- 
dence in the United Provinces. The prince and princess 
it Orange, to whom he had been recommended by 
their party in England, hearing of his arrival, gave him 
a very pressing invitation to the Hague, which he ac- 
cepted ; and soon was admitted into the most intimate 
confidence of those illustrious personages. He advised 
the equipment of such a fleet as would be sufficient to 
support their designs, and to encourage their friends at 
once to declare in their favour. Meanwhile, he facili- 
tated their reception, by publishing an account of his 
travels, in which he represented popery and tyranny as 
inseparable, with a view to alienate the affections of the 
people from James j and by some other caustic reflec- 
2 tions 



280 BISHOP BURNET. 

tions on the conduct of government, actively circulated 
in loose sheets, gave such umbrage to the king, that he 
earnestly desired Burnet might be forbid the court of 
the prince and princess. This was complied with in ap- 
pearance, not in reality ; and, soon after paying his ad- 
dresses to a Miss Scot, a Dutch lady of fortune, birth, 
and accomplishments, he obtained an act of naturaliza- 
tion in that country ; which incensed James to such a 
violent degree, that the court proceeded against him in 
a charge. of high treason, and a sentence of outlawry was 
passed upon him. 

Burnet, however, now secure under the protection of 
the States, to which he had transferred his allegiance, 
rather irritated than soothed his enemies ; and being im- 
periously demanded by James, it was urged that he had 
become a subject of the United States, and that if he had 
committed any crime, he was amenable only to their 
courts. 

This put an end to all farther application; and Bur- 
net, in forwarding tne views of the prince of Orange, 
must have now considered himself not only as employed 
in securing the liberties of his country, but in redressing 
his own private wrongs. It is ever dangerous and im- 
politic to injure or neglect: a man of genius and talents; 
for his resentment is commonly as keen as his gratitude 
for favours is warm. 

The deliverer of this country, the illustrious prince 
of Orange, having made all due preparations for his ex- 
pedition, was attended by Burnet in quality of chaplain ; 
who, by his pulpit eloquence, and the papers which he 
drew up as an exposition of the prince's sentiments and 
intentions, was eminently instrumental in rendering the 
revolution as bloodless as it was glorious. 

Such signal services did not long pass without their 
reward. William had not been many days on the throne 
before Dr. Burnet was promoted to the see of Salis- 
bury. 



BISHOP EUKXKT, 281 

bnry. In parliament he distinguished himself by de- 
claring for lenient measures towards stick of the clergy 
as refused to take the oaths to William and Mary; and 
ted his best abilities in promoting a legal toleration 
of the dissenters. So far his conduct: exposed him to no 
obloquy ; but having incautiously admitted some words 
into his first pastoral letter* in which he seemed to 
ground the title of William on the right of conquest, 
both housses of parliament, to shew, their detestation of 
such a false doctrine, ordered it to be burned by the 
hands of the common hangman. 

Burnet, however, did not suffer politics to absorb all 
his attention. Having the felicity to see the govern- 
ment settled on the firm foundation of rational liberty, 
lie constantly secluded himself from its concerns as soon 
as the business of parliament was over ; and, retiring to 
his diocese, by the most indefatigable zeal discharged 
the duties of his function ; visiting, confirming, ordain- 
ing, and superintending, with a vigilance and assiduity 
very uncommon, and truly meritorious. 

To pluralities he was a declared enemy, except when 
the value of the livings was small, and their conti- 
guity convenient. With regard to residence, he was 
peremptory and strict ; and this he inforced by his own 
example as much as by ..episcopal authority; for even 
when the king expressed his desire, during absence, 
that he would attend and counsel the queen on contin- 
gencies, this conscientious prelate would not accept of 
lodgings at Whitehall, but hired a house at Windsor, 
that he might still be within the limits of his diocese 
and yet able to attend at court, as occasion required. 

Though his integrity and duty sometimes carried him 
beyond the bounds of courtly politeness, and the king 
felt the blunt freedom of his speech, yet he was holden 
in the highest estimation during the whole of that reign; 
and, as the strongest proof of the exalted opinion his 

majesty 



2St BISHOP BURNET. 

majesty entertained of htm, when it became necessary 
to settle the houshold of the young Duke of Gloucester, 
Dr. Burnet was earnestly solicited to undertake the 
office of his preceptor ; and honourable as the appoint- 
ment was, with great reluctance he complied, lest it 
should withdraw him from the care of his diocese. In- 
deed, when he could excuse himself no longer, he pressed 
the resignation of his bishopric ; but, on the refusal of 
this request, he stipulated that the duke should reside at 
Windsor during summer, and that he should be allowed 
ten weeks annually to discharge his pastoral office. 

Under the tuition of such an able and judicious mas- 
ter, the young prince made a rapid progress ; but a pre- 
mature death rendered all the labours of Burnet ineffec- 
tual, and clouded the prospects cf the nation. 

In 1699, the bishop published his famous Exposition 
of the thirty-nine Articles of the Church of England ; 
a work which exposed him to public and private attacks ; 
but the numerous editions through which it has run, 
shew the approving sense posterity entertains of its 
merits* 

Having lost his second wife by the small-pox, he mar* 
ried a widow lady of great knowledge, piety, and vir- 
tue, and who supplied the place to his children of the 
natural parent which they had been deprived of. 

During the reign of queen Anne, he was less a fa- 
vourite at court ; but her majesty ever treated him with 
due respect, and encouraged him to speak his mind 
freely on national affairs. He shewed himself on all 
occasions worthy of this confidence; and strenuously ex- 
erted himself in seating the present illustrious family on 
the throne ; an event which he had the felicity to see 
accomplished before he was called from the stage of^ 
life. 

After various ineffectual endeavours to better the situ- 
ation of the clergy^ he had the satisfaction at last to find 



BISHOP Btrr.NET. 2S3 

Vis project for augmenting small livings carried into 
execution. The operation of queen Anne's bounty, as 
it is called, has certainly relieved much clerical distress; 
yet what a forlorn prospect have the ministers of religion 
before them, when a governor of this charity informs 
them that it will be three hundred years before every 
living in England and Wales is raised to the poor pit- 
tance of 1001. per annum! That government is bound 
to adopt some more efficacious remedy in favour of the 
poorer clergy, will scarcely be disputed by any one who 
allows the utility and influence of the sacerdotal order; 
or thinks that religion is the balm of life, and the pass- 
port to a happy immortality. 

Bishop Burnet, towards the close of life, became, in 
some measure, abstracted from that world which he was 
about to leave. When he had attained his seventy- 
second year, he was attacked with a cold which, dege- 
nerating to a pleuritic fever, baffled all the aids of me- 
dicine, and speedily brought him to the grave. His 
senses were clear to the last ; and exercises of devotion 
and affectionate advice to his family, occupied his chief 
concern and attention. To him death appeared strip- 
ped of every terror : he hailed its approaches with joy. 
He was buried in the church of St. James, Clerkenwell, 
where a handsome monument was erected to his me- 
mory. 

" The History of his own Times," a work of various 
knowledge, but not exempt from symptoms of party 
virulence, was published after his decease, according to 
his express directions, without alteration or abridgment; 
and will still be read with pleasure as a picture of a 
very interesting epoch in our history. Asa theologist, 
and a controversial writer, he has likewise left many 
proofs of acuteness and diligence, of profound learning 
and extensive observation. 

From his celebrated character, by the illustrious mar- 
quis 



284 BISHOP BURNET. 

quis of Halifax, we subjoin a few extracts. It was writ- 
ten by a contemporary, and lias been allowed, by impar- 
tial judges, to be appropriate and fair. 

" Dr. Burnet/' says this noble writer, " like all men 
who are above the ordinary level, is seldom spoken cf 
in a mean way ; he must either be railed at or admired. 
He has a swiftness of imagination, that no other man 
comes up to. His first thoughts may sometimes require 
more digestion, not from a defevfl in his judgment, but 
from the abundance of his fancy, which furnishes mat- 
ter too fast for him. His friends love hirn too well to 
heed small faults ; or, if they do, think that his greater 
talents give him a privilege of straying from the strict 
rules of caution, and exempt him from the ordinary 
rules of censure. He is not quicker in discerning other 
men's faults, than he is in forgiving them ; so ready, or 
rather glad, to acknowledge his own, that from ble- 
mishes they became ornaments. All the repeated pro- 
vocations of his indecent adversaries have had no other 
effect than the setting his good-nature in so much a 
better light, since his anger never yet went farther than 
to pity them. That heat, which in most other men 
raises sharpness and satire, in him glows into warmth 
for his friends, and compassion for those in want and 
misery. 

" He makes many enemies by setting an ill-natured 
example of living, which they are not inclined to follow. 
His indifference for preferment ; his contempt, not only 
of splendour, but of all unnecessary plenty ; his degrad- 
ing himself into the lowest and most painful duties of 
his calling; — are such unprelatical qualities, that, let" 
him be never so orthodox in other tilings, in these he- 
must be a dissenter. Virtues of such a stamp are so 
many heresies, in the opinion of those divines who have 
softened the primitive injunctions, so as to make them 
suit better with the present frailty of mankind.* No 

wonder 



WILLIAM PENN. 285 

wonder then if they are angry, since it is in their own 
defence ; or that, from a principle of self-preservation, 
they should endeavour to suppress a man whose parts 
are a shame, and whose life is a scandal, to them/' 



WILLIAM PENN, 

FOUNDER OF PENNSYLVANIA. 

Born 1644— Died 1718. 
Frojn 19M Charles I. to 4M George 7. 

TO confine all merit to a particular religious per* 
suasion, is certainly the property of a little mind ; 
of a mind neither illumined by reason, nor influenced 
by Christianity. The bigot looks at principles alone, 
and condemns without mercy those that do not exactly 
tally with his own. The man of virtue and understand- 
ing makes a candid allowance for the prejudices of edu- 
cation, or the fallibility of human judgment; and in 
right practices, from whatever source they spring, sees 
much to love and to adnu're. The former, in his nar- 
row zeal, disregards good actions, the only incontestable 
proof of good principles ; the latter, without suffering 
any improper bias to mislead him, judges of the tree 
according to its fruit. 

Had Penn, of whom we here present some brief no- 
tices, lived in the age of Solon or Lycurgus, his name 
would have been sure to float down the stream of time 
with theirs. As a legislator, it is impossible to deny 
him the tribute of unmixed applause, and in this light 
we shall principally consider him : as a religionist, he 
rigidly adhered to the dictates of conscience, regardless 
of fortune or of fame, and therefore is entitled to respect 

and 



285 WILLIAM PENX. 

and veneration from such as may not, however, approve 
his particular tenets. 

This extraordinary man, one of the original bulwarks 
of the society called quakers, and the founder and legis- 
lator of Pennsylvania, was the son of admiral Sir Wil- 
liam Penn, the fortunate conqueror of Jamaica. He 
was born in London, and was partly educated under a 
domestic tutor, and partly at a school at Chigwell in 
Essex. He appears to have had early and deep impres- 
sions of religion on his mind, and to have experienced, 
or fancied, divine communications, between the twelftk 
and fifteenth year of his age. About this period too, 
it seems probable that he had been a hearer of one 
Thomas Loe, a quaker, who- afterwards fixed him in 
the principles of that sect ; and that the impression 
which he then received was never afterwards effaced 
from his heart. The ductile mind of youth, like the 
warm wax, is susceptible of any form ; and first prin- 
ciples and prepossessions are well known to be with 
difficulty eradicated. 

This was strongly exemplified in Penn, who, in 1660, 
was admitted a gentleman commoner of Christ-church, 
Oxford; but, soon withdrawing from the national wor- 
ship, and performing religious exercises in private with 
some other students of a serious disposition, he was first 
fined for nonconformity, though then but sixteen years 
of age, and afterwards expelled. 

His father was so much incensec\ at this conduct* 
which he considered as a bar to his future preferment r 
that, when expostulation proved ineffectual to alter his 
sentiments, he turned him out of doors. Relenting, 
however, on mature reflection, he tried the effects of a 
journey to the continent; in hopes that the peculiar re- 
ligious notions of the young man would yield to the 
attractions of company, and a more enlarged knowledge 
of the world. After a considerable stay in France, 

young 



WILLIAM FENN. 287 

young Perm returned the accomplished gentleman, and 
was received with joy by his father, whose affection for 
him appears to have been ardent and sincere- It is said, 
that during his residence in Paris, being assaulted one 
evening in the streets, by a person with a drawn sword, 
he was so well skilled in fencing, that he disarmed his 
antagonist. This barbarous practice, however, he 
strongly reprobates in his writings ; and, to mark its 
absurdity, puts in the balance a trifling insult, with tha 
probable loss of life and the crime of murder. 

In the twenty-second year of his age, his father com- 
mitted to his superintendance a considerable estate in 
Ireland. Here he accidentally found the same Thomas 
Loe, whose preaching had made such an early and last- 
ing impression on his tender mind ; and joining the so* 
ciety of quakers, who were then under persecution, he 
was committed to prison with some others, but soon re- 
leased by the interposition of his father. 

Being ordered back to England, paternal regard was 
again excited to reclaim him, but in vain. He felt the 
strongest principles of duty to a fond parent ; but his 
opinions were now so rooted, that he was absolutely in- 
flexible to all remonstrances. In consequence, he was 
again cast on the wide world; and, taking up the voca- 
tion of a public preacher among the quakers, he suffered 
various persecutions, with a firmness and patience which 
claim our admiration, The cause for which he suffered 
became endeared to him by every trial that he under- 
went. Opposition has sometimes made as many mar- 
tyrs as conscience ! 

The admiral again attempted to compromise matters 
with his son. He requested only that he would consent 
to be uncovered in presence of the king and the duke of 
York. Even this external mark of respect, as it violated 
one of the principles which he had adopted, was waved 
as inconsistent with his duty. His father, at last, finding 

his 



288 \> r ILLXAM PEXN. 

his perseverance in the tenets of qnakerism to he the .ef- 
fect of pure though mistaken principle, received him into 
the bosom of his family without any concessions ; and 
departing this life soon after, bequeathed him with his 
benediction a plentiful fortune. Notwithstanding the 
opposition which he had given to his son's religious 
conduct, with his dying breath he adjured him to do 
nothing contrary to his conscience. — " So will you keep 
peace at home, which will be a comfort in the day of 
trouble." 

After enduring another imprisonment for attending a 
quaker meeting, he visited Holland and Germany, and 
met 'with a very flattering reception from the princess 
Elizabeth of Bohemia, daughter of James I. His writ- 
ings, his labours, and his sufferings, for some years, 
were various; but we now come to an epoch in his life 
which changed the complexion of his fortune, and gave 
a full display to his wisdom and his virtues. 

Charles II. in 1681, as a compensation for services 
and sums due to his deceased father, conferred by pa- 
tent, on Mr. Penn and his heirs, the province of Pennsyl- 
vania ; so called from the name of the subordinate gran- 
tee. The proprietor immediately drew up an impar- 
tial account of the climate and produce, and proposed 
' very easy terms to settlers. But, considering the royal 
grant as conferring a title, not a right, he wrote, in the 
most affectionate terms to the Indians, explaining his 
peaceable intentions, and expressing his wish to hold 
the lands which had been ceded him, not only by the 
king's patent, but also by their consent and love. Com- 
missioners were accordingly named to carry his just and 
benevolent views into execution ; while the natives un- . 
accustomed to be treated like men, listened with plea- 
sure to the proposals made them, conceived a high 
opinion of him, and entered into an amicable treaty, 
which was never broken. 

The 



WILLIAM PENtf. 289 

The disqualifications under which some sects laboured 
in England at this period, and the persecution of others, 
served to people the new colony. The city of Phila- 
delphia was laid out according to a judicious and regu- 
lar plan, and rapidly increased. Penn himself drew 
up the fundamental constitution of his province in 
twenty-four articles; and in the following year, the 
frame of its government. Had he never WTitten any- 
thing besides, this would have sufficed to render his 
fame immortal. In his code, he not only displayed the 
soundest wisdom, but also the most amiable modera- 
tion and warm philanthropy. Though persecuted for 
his own religion, he shews his detestation of intolerance, 
not only from its moral turpitude, but his inherent love 
cf justice. All persons, who acknowledged a supreme 
Governor of the universe, and who held themselves 
obliged in conscience to live peaceably and justly ia 
civil society, were in no wise to be molested nor preju- 
diced for their religious opinions. The same amiable 
disposition was displayed in settling the civil govern- 
ment, and establishing courts of justice. To prevent 
expensive law-suits, he ordered three peace-makers to be 
chosen by ev^ry county-court, in quality of common ar- 
bitrators. /In short, during the two years that he re- 
sided in his province, he settled its government on the 
firmest basis of justice; he ingratiated himself with 
the Indians to an extraordinary degree ; and taught his 
people by example, as well as precept, the advantage of 
diligence and economy, and the happiness of sobriety and 
order. He left Pennsylvania in 1684, with the affection 
of the settlers, and the veneration of the Indians ; and 
returned to England with his wife and family. 

On the accession of James II. he was treated with 
much distinction at court, and therefore lay under the 
imputation of an attachment to popery, from which he 
fully exonerated himself; but on the revolution he was 

N arrested 



2Q0 WILLIAM -fENN. 

arrested, an suspicion of corresponding with the abdi- 
cated king, examined before the council, and obliged to 
give security for his appearance the first day of term* 
Again and again he underwent this vexation from false 
allegations, which induced him at last to abscond ; but 
after some time, being permitted to appear before the 
king and council, he vindicated his innocence with such 
spirit and effect, that his calumniators shrunk from the 
charge. After various peregrinations as a public preach- 
er, in 1699, he revisitedPennsylvania, with his wife and 
family; where, it is said, he intended to spend the re- 
mainder of his days : but, in 1701, he was recalled, to 
defend his proprietary right, which had been attacked 
in his absence. However, he supported his legal 
claims ; and was highly respected by queen Anne, 
whose court he often visited. Here persecution closed; 
and here his active labours ceased. 

Age advancing, with its concomitant infirmities, he 
quitted the vicinity of London, and settled at Ruscombe, 
in Berkshire, where he gradually declined; and at 
length quitted this sublunary scene, in the seventy-fourth 
year of his age. 

As a writer, he evinced great good sense, except 
where it was obscured by mysticismj or the peculiarity 
of his religious creed. As a mild and beneficent man, of 
the purest virtue, integrity, and conscience, he is an 
honour to any religious society; as a legislator, he is 
an honour to the country that produced him. 

Though possessed of an ample fortune, it was re- 
duced by his "charity to his brethren, by the impositions 
which he suffered from ill-disposed persons, and the dis- 
interestedness which he shewed in raising a revenue 
from his province. When offered an impost by the 
colonists on certain goods, he returned thanks for this 
mark of affection, but declined its acceptance. He 
seemed to consider the settlers as his children, 2nd 

thought 



MR. ADDISON. 2Qt 

thought it unbecoming a father to fleece them of their 
property. 

At times, his affairs were so deranged, that he was 
afraid of his creditors. A pleasant anecdote is recorded 
on an occasion of this nature. He had contrived an 
aperture, at his house in Norfolk-street, by which he 
could see without being seen. A creditor, having sent 
in his name, waited a long time for admission. " Will 
not thy master see me i" said he, at last, to the servant. 
" Friend," replied the servant, " he has seen thee, but 
does not like thee." 



JOSEPH ADDISON, 

SECRETARY OF STATE* 

Born 1672— Died 1719. 
From 23d Charles II. to hth George /• 

TO select the brightest luminaries from the literary 
constellation which has gilded the British hori- 

' son, is both a difficult and an invidious task. Our li- 

i mits admit only a few at best ; and those, to come within 
our plan, mnst possess pre-eminence of genius, or have 
been signally favoured by fortune. Many have gained 
the height of renown in the republic of letters ; but 
scanty is the number of those who, like Addison, have 
risen principally by literature, to an exalted station in 

I the state. His life therefore, independent of its own 
-excellence, will convey many a moral lesson. It is cal- 

; culated to inspire hope and emulation by the proof that 
eminent desert will frequently be crowned with reward ; 
it is also calculated to repress the vain ambition o£ 
shining in every sphere, when it is evident that Addison 

^either increased his fame, nor his happiness, by the 
elevated public rank which he acquired. 

N 2 This 



202 MB. ADDISOX. 

This inimitable writer was son to the dean of Litch- 
field; and first saw the light "at Milston, near Ambres- 
bury, in Wilts, of which place his father was also rector. 
When he came into the w r orld, his stay in it was likely 
to be so very short, that he was instantly baptized : in- 
deed, some say, that he was laid out for dead as soon as 
born* 

The first rudiments of education he received under a 
clergyman, at the place of his nativity. He was then 
successively removed to Salisbury, Litchfield, and the 
Charter-house schools. At the last excellent seminary 
of classical learning, he pursued his juvenile studies with 
extraordinary success ; and here he contracted an inti- 
macy with Sir Richard Steele, which the similarity of 
taste and pursuits rendered almost as durable as their 
lives. It is one great advantage, indeed, which public 
schools possess over private, that youths of merit have 
a chance of contracting some valuable friendships, or of 
exhibiting, at an early period, those energies of mind, 
which lay the foundation of their future fortune. But 
the future destination ought to decide the preference of 
a public or private education: the latter is, perhaps, best 
adapted to the common business of life. 

Addison was scarcely fifteen years of age, when he 
was sent to Queen's college, Oxford. Here his appli- 
cation to classical learning continued without intermis- 
sion. He had already acquired an elegant Latin style ; 
and some of his verses in that language falling into the 
hands of Dr. Lancaster of Magdalen college, he enter- 
tained such a high ophiion of the writer's genius, that 
he procured Addison admission into his own. college, 
where our accomplished youth proceeded bachelor and 
master of arts ; and is still considered as one of tjie most 
illustrious characters which that respectable society has 
§ent forth. 

His reputation for Latin poetry, which* however, is 

rathe 



i 



MR. ADDISON*. 293 

rather calculated to shew the classical scholar than the 
man of genius, soon spread over the university ; and 
many elegant specimens of his performances in this way 
are still extant in the Musarilm Anglicanarum Analcdta, 

Notwithstanding the acknowledged purity of his.Eng- 
lish style, he is said to have been twenty-two years old 
before he made himself conspicuous by any composition 
in the vernacular tongue. No sooner, however, had he 
attempted English poetry, than his reputation was con- 
siderably increased, as more were qualified to estimate 
his merits in that province. He attracted the notice of 
Dryde% and the friendship of Sacheverell, by his writ- 
ings; but what led to more important consequences was 
his poem on one of king William's campaigns, addressed 
to the lord keeper Somers. This great statesman re- 
ceived our author's advances with great politeness, and 
took him under his immediate and entire protection. 
Addison had only intimated that the patronage of So- 
mers would be acceptable, and. it was his good fortune 
to obtain it. By his favour, and that of Mr. Montague, 
chancellor of the exchequer,, who both discerned his fine 
genius, "and wished to give it the last polish, 1 he received 
an annual pension of 3001. on which he was enabled to 
make the fashionable tour through the different coun- 
tries of Europe. 

It appears that Addison had been pressingly solicited 
by his college friends to enter into holy orders; but his 
political patrons diverted him from this intention, and 
he set out on his travels in 1699. After staying a year 
at Blois, to master the French language, he proceeded 
to Italy; which he travelled through, and afterwards 
described with the eye and the fancy of a poet. His 
poetical epistle to Montague, lord Halifax, from that 
country, is one of the most finished productions of Ad^ 
di son's genius, and its multifarious beauties have occa- 
sioned its translation into several languages. While it 
N 3 breathes 



'2QA MR. ADDISON. 

breathes the spirit of independent gratitude, it evinces 
his classical genius and love of liberty, and is equally 
honourable to the poet and his patron. 

Mr. Addison returned in 1703, and his friends being 
either removed or in disgrace, his pension was vith- 
holden, and his prospects for a time seemed to be cloud- 
ed. Fortune, however, took him up at this crisis, and 
his abilities secured the vantage ground which she gave 
fiirh. 

The victory at Blenheim had justly spread triumph ~ 
and confidence over the nation, but it had not yet been 
celebrated by a poet worthy of such a lofty theme. 
Lord Godolphin was lamenting this to lord Halifax, 
with a wish that the latter, who was a poet himself, 
would recommend some genius qualified for doing jus- 
tice to the subject. Halifax immediately recollected his 
friend Addison, commended his merit and ingenuity, 
and gave lord Godolphin so effectually the impression 
which he intended, that our poet was solicited to engage 
in this task, and executed it so much to the satisfaction 
of his nr' , j employer, that he was made commissioner 
cf appeals. 

Next year his Travels were published, and dedicated 
to lord Somers. At first they met with, an indifferent 
reception : the classical allusions and quotations were 
too frequent for common readers ; irat real judges were 
not long in recognizing their merits, and in a short 
time it would have appeared unfashionable not to ad- 
mire them. 

. About the same time, Mr. Addison attended lord 
Halifax to Hanover; and in 1706 was made under se- 
cretary of state, in which capacity he officiated both 



under Sir Charles Hedges and his successor the earl of 



Sunderland. 

The votaries of the opera now importuned Addison 
to try whether sense and sound under his auspices might 

not 



1 



MR. ADJHSOtf. 2^5 

not be rendered compatible. To oblige them, he com- 
posed his inimitable " Rosamond," which was dedicated 
to the duchess of Marlborough ; but so strongly was 
the public prejudiced in favour of die Italian operas, 
that the genius of Addison, and the pure taste of a few 
distinguished judges, could not banish the absurdity of 
listening to a language which, to this day, not one in 
twenty understands, and to a species of music which 
fewer, though taught by habit to commend, can really 
feel. 

When the marquis of Wharton was appointed lord- 
lieutenant of Ireland in 1709, he made Mr. Addison his 
secretary, and the queen was graciously pleased to con- 
fer on him the office of keeper of the records in that 
kingdom, with an increase of salary- 

Soon after, Steele commenced the Tatler; and Addi- 
son, having discerned his early friend in the author, 
voluntarily lent his assistance. His communications, 
indeed, were so valuable, that Steele candidly confessed, 
" he fared like a distressed prince who calls in a power- 
ful auxiliary." The superiority of Addison's genius 
and his taste in fine prose writing were so supreme, that 
Steele, f though the ^original projector of that immortal 
work, shrank to a secondary object. 

The change of ministry, which afterwards took place, 
again left our author more at liberty .to cultivate ele- 
gant literature ; and no sooner was the Tatler laid down, 
than, m concert with Steele, he brought out that match- 
less periodical paper the Spectator, the most capital and 
popular of all his works ; and which, though too much 
taken up with political and temporary allusions and de- 
tails, is still read with pleasure and advantage, and will 
continue to instruct and improve as long as the English 
language exists. 

The Guardian, another periodical production in the 

same taste, followed the Spectator 5 in which the papers 

N 4 written 



296 MR. ADDISON. 

Written by Mr. Addison were particularly admired. He 
wrote a few other fugitive essays about this time ; but 
a principal effort of his genius was the tragedy of Cato, 
which he produced in 1713. 

The plan of this masterly performance he had formed 
some years before, and had written a great part of it 
during his travels ; but his friends thinking it might be 
serviceable to the cause of liberty to bring it forth about 
this time, he set about fitting it for the stage, and its 
success was almost unique in the history of dramatic 
exhibitions. It was played for thirty-five nights succes- 
sively, with the loudest plaudits of the most opposite 
parties ; it was quickly translated into other languages, 
and has gained the highest celebrity for its exquisite 
poetry, and the interest which it excites in every breast 
not callous to the pleas of patriotism and the voice of 
liberty. Queen Anne was so charmed with -the per- 
formance, that she intimated her desire of seeing it de- 
dicated to her; but Addison, as it is said, being pre. 
engaged in this respect, avoided violating either his duty 
or his honour, and sent it into the world without any 
dedication. 

On the demise of the queen, which happened soon 
after, this zealous champion of liberty was made secre- 
tary to the lords justices, in whose hands the regency 
was vested till the arrival of George I. In virtue of this 
office he was to announce the queen's death, and the va- 
cancy of the throne, to the court of Hanover. To a 
man of less genius this would have been an easy task ; 
hut Addison was so distracted by choice of expression, 
and balancing the niceties of language, that the lords 
justices lost all patience, and ordered a clerk to dispatch 
the message ; which he, following common forms, easily 
executed. Addison, however, employed his pen to 
great advantage in defence of the established govern- 
ment, in a paper untitled the Freeholder ; and the court 

was 



MR. ADDISON. 2Q7 

was so sensible of his virtuous and able exertions, that 
he was made one of the lords of Irade. 

In 1716, he espoused the countess dowager of War- 
wick, after a long and anxious courtship ; but he found 
no accession to his happiness in this splendid alliance ; 

Non bene conveniunt, ncc in una sede morantur 
Majeslas et amor. 

The countess, it is said, presuming on her high rank, 
treated her husband with little respect ; and he, conscU 
ous of a dignity which neither wealth nor power could 
confer, must have felt this vain insolence with peculiar 
poignancy. However, next year he was made secretary 
of state; but this as little added to his felicity or his 
credit. He soon felt himself utterly unfit for the weighty 
duties of the place. He could neither speak in defence 
of a public measure without hesitation, nor dictate a 
dispatch without the confusion of modest doubt. The 
accomplished scholar and the minister are often oppo- 
site characters ; it is no degradation to Addison, to say 
that he did not possess a versatility of genius which 
qualified him for every station. He saw .his defects, 
and solicited leave to resign, which was granted him, 
with a. pension of 1500/. per annum. 

He now retired from the bustle of business 5 and 
wisely consulting his ease and health, began to plan lite- 
rary occupations for the remainder of his days. Among 
other schemes which Addison had devised to charm the 
tedium of retirement, was a tragedy on the death of So* 
crates, and an English dictionary. The former appears 
to allow little scope for stage effect, and on the latter, 
fortunately, he did not waste that time which could be 
more valuably employed. He engaged, however, in 
a noble design? of which he left a part executed, in the 
* Evidences of Christianity." Politics he had entirely 
discarded, yet he was drawn into the vortex "cmce more 
N 5 whea 



2()8 MR. ADDISON* 

when near his end, and had for his antagonist Sir 
Richard Steele. The subject of dispute was the " Peer- 
age Bill," introduced by the earl of Sunderland. The 
contest was agitated with great vehemence, though it 
was not of sufficient consequence to create animosity 
between two indifferent private persons, much less be-- 
tween two friends, whose names will descend conjointly 
to the latest posterity with honour and applause. Steele* 
in the controversy, did not forget the gentleman or the 
former friend ; but Addison made use of sarcasm, if 
not contempt for his opponent, to whom he gave the 
appellation of " Little Dicky." 

It is painful for a generous mind to reflect, that those 
illustrious writers, after so many years of confidence 
and endearment, of conformity of opinion, and fellow- 
ship in study, should at last part in acrimonious oppo- 
sition on dissension about a trifle. 

But political animosity, and even die more meritori- 
©us energies of a virtuous mind, were about to cease in- 
Addison. He had long been subject to an asthma ; 
which, now becoming aggravated by a dropsy, gave 
him the sure presage of inevitable dissolution. With 
this prospect before him, he summoned up all his resolu- 
tion, and prepared to die in conformity to the precepts- 
which, he had taught/ and the principles which had di- 
rected his conduct.. He forgave such as had injured 
ium, and requested the forgiveness. of those whom he 
had wronged by word or deed. 

Concerning the manner of. Addison's death, we have 
some account by Dr. Young.. It is the best comment 
#n his life, and worth a thousand cold reflections. After, 
a long ^nd patient, but vain. struggle with his mortal 
disorder, he dismissed hrs physic ians* and, with them, 
all hopes of life ;., bet his* regard for the living was still 
as warm as in the gayest and happiest of his hours. The 
young earl of. Warwick, his son-in-law, was hurried 
5 away 



DUKE OF MARLBOROUGH. 209 

away by youthful passions ; and Addison had tried in 
vain, by the most affectionate arguments to reclaim 
him. He sent for him when the flame of life was just 
glimmering in the socket. The earl came ; and, after 
a decent pause, said, " Dear Sir> you sent forme; I 
believe and hope you have some commands : I shall 
hold them most sacred." Forcibly grasping his hand, 
the dying philosopher softly replied, " See in what 
peace a christian can die." He articulated this with 
difficulty : his pulse forgot to beat, and he expired. 

Mr. Tickell had the charge of publishing his posthuv 
mous works ; which, with those that appeared in his 
life-time, are too numerous to particularize here, but are 
all excellent. Of Addison it has been justly observed, 
that he employed wit on the side of religion, restored 
virtue to its dignity, and taught innocence not to be 
ashamed. This is an elevation of literary character 
" above all Greek, above all Roman fame." No greater 
felicity can genius obtain than that of having purified 
intellectual pleasures, separated mirth from indecency, 
and wit from licentiousness ; of having taught a suc- 
cession of writers to bring elegance and gaiety to the 
aid of goodness, and of having, converted many from, 
vice and the error of their ways. 



JOHN CHURCHILL, 

DUKE OF MARLBOROUGH^ 

AND PRINCE OF THE HOLY ROMAN EMPIRE* 

Bom 1650— Died 1722. 

From 2d Charles 27. to8:/i George L 

Immortal chief ! of Albion's isle the pride, 
By martial deeds to greatest names allied 5 
Ilenowri'd for valour, as for mercy lov'd, 
The highest pitch of human bliss you prov'dj 

N 6 Gakftl 



300 JOHN CHURCHILL. 

GainM the bright meed, without the conscious staifl, 

And wore the laurel unalloyed with pain. 

Unlike those pests, who fought for fame alone, 

To 'slave a nation, or to mount a throne ; 

You drew the sword, the injurM to defend, 

To aid the helpless, and the proud to bend . 

Be this your fame— nor could the favouring Nine 

•Grace with a praise more noble, more divine. 

Blenheim, a Poem. 

OF this illustrious ornament and bulwark of his 
country and of Europe, it is almost impossible to 
Speak but in the language of enthusiasm. Equally fit- 
ted for the cabinet and the field ; formed to shine at 
the levee, and to spread the terror of his arms over hos- 
tile nations : in whatever light we contemplate the cha- 
racter of Churchill, he will appear one of those few 
inen whom nature has gifted with extraordinary endow- 
ments, and fortune propitiously indulged with an op- 
portunity of displaying them. His achievements, how- 
ever, fill such an ample space, that we can only glance 
at his career with a rapidity emblematic of his success, 
but far unworthy of his deserts, did his fame rest on 
the present attempt to do him justice. Yet the most 
superficial sketch of his life can scarcely fail to inspire 
those ardent emotions of glory and of heroism, whose 
flame it is our object to fan. 

This great man was the second son of Sir Winston 
Churchill, of Dorsetshire, a gentleman of approved 
loyalty^ for which he greatly suffered. His mother was 
a daughter of Sir John Drake, of Ashe, in Devonshire, 
at whose seat this hero was born, who lived to verify 
the prediction of the prince de Vaudemont, in 1661, 
u that he would attain the highest pitch of honour to 
which any subject could be exalted." 

He received the first rudiments of his education under 
a clergyman in the vicinity ; but, his elder brother dy- 
ing, his father, who enjoyed considerable posts at court 

4 under 



DUKE OF MAULEOBOUGH. 301 

under Charles II. judged it expedient to introduce his 
son early into life ; and at twelve years of age he was 
made page of honour to the Duke of York, by whom he 
was much caressed and zealously patronized. 

About 1666, he received a pair of colours in the 
guards ; and never was the bent of genius more happily 
consulted, than by indulging his early bias for the pro- 
fession of arms. This soon proved, to be his delight 
and his glory. Having obtained leave to serve at Tan- 
gier, then besieged by the Moors, he signalized himself 
in various skirmishes with that nation, and on his re- 
turn to court was equally a favourite with Charles and 
the Duke of York. 

In 1672, when the Duke of Monmouth commanded 
a body of auxiliaries, in the service of France, Mr. 
Churchill attended him, and was promoted to a cap- 
taincy of grenadiers in his Grace's own regiment. In 
all the actions of that famous campaign, against the 
Dutch, he had itus full share of danger and of glory, 
and was particularly distinguished by Marshal Turenne, 
w^ho gave him the appellation of " the handsome Eng- 
lishman;" a title which he long retained among the 
French. Here his military talents began to display 
themselves ; and, on the reduction of Maestricht, his 
most Christian Majesty personally thanked him at the 
head of the line, and promised to acquaint his own sove- 
reign with his merits. The duke of Monmouth, too, was 
eager to second this honourable testimony of his cou- 
rage and conduct ; and, the road to preferment being 
once opened, his worth, prudence and accomplishments, 
secured the rest. 

It is however deserving of remark, that Churchill 
was considerably indebted for his original reputation 
and success to the recommendations of a monarch whom 
he afterwards humbled in the severest manner. Such 
are the vicissitudes of life* and the caprices of fortune, 

that 



302 JOHN CHURCHILL, 

that no one can predict final events from secondary 
causes, or tell into what situation he may be thrown. 
The patriotism of Churchill, in the sequel, obliged him 
to desert his warm benefactor, the duke of York, and t® 
combat that nation in whose service he had gathered 
some of his first laurels. 

He speedily rose to the rank of lieutenant-colonel, 
was appointed gentleman of the bed-chamber to the 
duke of York, and master of the robes. From the po- 
litical squabbles of the times, he prudently kept himself 
at a distance ; but when his master was obliged to re- 
tire for a time, he attended him in all his peregrina- 
tions, till a calm permitted him to return. 

While he waited on the duke in Scotland, he was- 
complimented with a regiment of dragoons ; and soon 
after married Miss Sarah Jennings, of Sandridge, in 
Hertfordshire, one of the most beautiful and accom- 
plished ladies of the court, and w r ho was in the house- 
hold of the princess Anne, in whose service she long 
continued, and acted a very conspicuous part in the 
subsequent scenes of her reign. 

. In a short time after he had strengthened his influ- 
ence by this connection, he was raised to the dignity of 
the peerage, by the title of Lord Churchill of Eymouth, 
in Scotland. On the accession of James, whose una- 
bated favour he enjoyed, his lordship was sent ambas- 
sador to France, to notify this event, and was continued 
in all his posts. On his return, he assisted at the coro- 
nation ; and, as a farther pledge of royal regard, was 
created a peer of England, in May 1685, by the title of 
baron Churchill of Sandridge. . 

A'month after this new accession of honour, being 
then brigadier-general of his majesty's forces, he was 
sent into the west, under the earl of Feversham, to sup- 
press the duke of Monmouth's rebellion. This business 
he accomplished with celerity and success, and his re- 

ceptios 



DUKE OF MARLBOROUGH. 303 

ception at court was in proportion to the service which 
he had performed. There is good reason for supposing 
that lord Churchill from this time saw the intention of 
the deluded James to awe the nation tyy a standing force, 
and to subvert their dearest liberties; but neither grati- 
tude to an indulgent master, nor the allegiance to his 
sovereign, could overcome the paramount duty which 
he owed to his country. Though it is probable that 
the struggle between the partial attachment to his mas- 
ter, and the higher obligations of conscience, was long 
and severe, his lordship was guilty of no mean compli- 
ances; and when he saw too plainly that his devoted 
master was rushing to ruin, notwithstanding the remon- 
strances of his best friends, he joined in the memorial 
transmitted to the prince and princess of Orange; which 
invited them to rescue the British nation from popery 
and slavery. 

James, however, continued to place such confidence 
rn lord Churchill, that, on the landing of the prince of 
Orange, he gave him the command of a brigade of 5000 
men ; nor would he listen to any insinuations against 
his favourite, though the earl of Feversham had drop- 
ped an intimation of the suspected disaffection of his 
mind. 

In this dilemma, in which a wise man would hesitate 
and a good man feel some difficulty how to act, lord- 
Churchill acquitted himself with his usual prudence and 
address. 

Animated by the'' purest patriotism, though with all 
the honourable feelings of personal attachment to James 5 
he singly went over to the prince of Orange, and trans-> 
mitted a letter to the king, which shews the conflict 
v.hich he had undergone between his love an4 : his duty. 
In this he paint3 the necessity that his consciense im- 
posed on him of acting contrary to his visible interest 
and his former allegiance ; and, with a delicate hand* 

points 



304 JOHN" CHURCHILL 

points to the causes which had led to this important 
catastrophe. . 

That lord Churchill was actuated solely by a sense of 
duty, and entertained the highest ideas of honour, is ap- 
parent from this circumstance : he betrayed no trust, 
he carried oif no troops, and gave notice of his allegi- 
ance being dissolved, before he entered on a new service. 
William appreciated his merits as they deserved, and 
received him with open arms. He invested him with 
the rank of lieutenant-general; and not only was he in- 
debted to the military services of this accomplished 
officer, in the reduction of Cork and Kinsale, but in a 
Tcry essential degree to his influence, and that of his 
Jady with the prince and princess of Denmark, who had 
also revolted from the standard of tyranny, and hailed 
the banners of liberty. 

As soon as the government was settled on a new basis, 
lord Churchill was sworn of the privy-council, made^ 
one of the gentlemen of the bed-chamber, and created 
earl of Marlborough. 

Soon after the coronation, his Majesty being obliged 
to fight for the support of his crown in Ireland, ap- 
pointed the earl of Marlborough commander in chief of 
the English forces in Holland. In the battle of WaL- 
court, fought August 15, 1689, he gave such extraor- 
dinary proofs of military genius, that the prince of WaL 
deck publicly declared " he saw more into the art of 
war in a single day, than some generals in many years." 
Cn this occasion he laid the solid foundation of his fame 
among foreigners, which he afterwards spread to the 
confines of the globe. King William, a warrior also 
himself, and an excellent judge of merit, was pleased to 
compliment him by saying, ** that he knew no man so 
fit for a general who had seen so few campaigns." 

Yet, notwithstanding his shining talents and his re-* 
scent services, it was his fate to experience the v ersatility 

of 



DUKE OF MARLBOROUGH. 305 

of a court. In 1691, he was suddenly stript of all his 
employments ; and some vile conspirators taking advan- 
tage of his disgrace, on a false charge of treason he was 
committed to the Tower, with several x)ther noblemen. 
This allegation was so palpably false, that he was quick- 
ly liberated, and the miscreants who had advanced it 
were, in the sequel, condemned to the pillory ; but his 
lordship still remained under a cloud, though no proba- 
ble reason can now be assigned for it, unless it was in- 
teresting himself too warmly in favour of the princess 
Anne, whom their majesties wished to keep in a state of 
dependence. 

After the death of queen Mary, King William and the 
princess entertained more amicable sentiments for each 
other, and the earl of Marlborough was not only recalled 
to the privy council, but appointed governor to the 
young duke of Gloucester, with this high compliment 
from the king, " Make him but what you are, and my 
nephew will be all I wish to see him." In this honour- 
able office the earl acquitted himself to the entire satis- 
faction of all parties ; but the young prince being cut 
off ill the eleventh year of his age, in him ended all 
hopes of seeing a protestant successor in the family of 
Stuarts : and by the act of succession the crown reverted, 
after the death of his mother, to the'illustrious house 
of Hanover. * 

The earl of Marlborough was soon after called to a 
more public employ, being appointed commander in 
chief of the English forces in Holland, and ambassador 
extraordinary to the United States. The scene now be- 
gan to open which displayed his talents in their full 
lustre, and crowned him with never-fading laurels. 
Philip, a grandson of the house of France, united to the 
Interest, directed by the policy, and supported by the 
arms of that crown, was placed on the throne of Spain. 
Kin^ William beheld this formidable coalition of two 



305 JOHN CHURCHILL, 

great, and once rival, monarchies, with jealous appr^ 
hension. " At the close of a life spent in supporting the 
liberties of Europe, he saw them in the greatest danger; 
and provided for their security in the most effectual 
manner, by recommending the earl of Marlborough to 
the princess Anne, as the most proper person to command 
the army which was to support the balance of power, 
and prevent the fetters of slavery from being ri vetted on 
Europe. 

After concerting measures with the States, who also 
appointed him captain-general of their forces, with a 
liberal salary, war was declared on the 4th of May, 
1702: and the earrof Marlborough opened the cam- 
paign. 

To detail the illustrious aftions of this great general 
during the space of ten years, would be to write the his- 
tory of Europe for that period; and no summary can 
convey any adequate idea of their importance. History 
has recorded the triumphs of Marlborough in indelible 
characters, and the consequences resulting from the 
terrors which his arms inspired are, perhaps,- felt at this 
very day; they vie with those of Alexander and Caesar; 
but as their objects were very different, so is their praise 
more glorious. 

As an earnest of gratitude for his transcendent ser- 
vices, he was, in 1702, created Marquis of Blandford, 
and duke of Marlborough ; and after the battle, of Blen- 
heim, which was fought with unparalleled bravery and 
success, on the 2d of August, 1704, the queen, with the 
concurrence of parliament, granted him the manor of 
Woodstock with all its appurtenant royalties, to be far 
ever'holden by the tenure of tendering to the queen, her 
heirs and successors, on the anniversary of the day on 
which the vi&pry was achieved, at the castle of Windsor, 
46 a standard with three fleurs-de-lys painted thereon. 5 ' 
Orders were likewise issued to the comptroller of the 

v# queen'* 



DUKE OF MARLBOROUGH. 307 

queen's works to erect a magnificent palace for the duke, 
which received the appellation of Blenheim, and which 
remains a splendid memorial of national gratitude and 
munificence to the hero who had dejf jrved so well of 
his country. 

But, though the actions of the duke of Marlborough, 
performed in the compass of a few years, were sufficient 
to ad urn the annals of ages ; though by him the glory of 
Britain was raised to such a height as might for ever 
have secured his own, he experienced, in the end, that 
opposition at home which rendered his situation irk- 
some, and paid the tax in full, which envy and malice are 
sure to lay on exalted worth. His most glorious exploits, 
his best views and designs, were misrepresented by a 
faction, who wished, at any rate, to supersede his influ- 
ence ; and who at last succeeded in dispossessing the 
duke's friends of that controul in the administration 
which was necessary to confirm his operations, and sup- 
port the glory which he had acquired. 

The people, too, intoxicated with victory, became 
languid in support of the war, and by degrees grew cla- 
morous for peace. Negociations were set on foot more 
than once; but the enemy, though bleeding at every 
pore, and seeing their very vitals in danger, trusted to 
discordant councils in the British cabinet for better 
terms, and on the removal of the duke from his high 
command, for a change of fortune. The private 
pique and the mercenary aims of a party co-operated 
with the wishes of the French court, and gave confi- 
dence to their hopes. A treaty of pacification was 
! begun on a basis which the duke of Marlborough could 
; not approve ; as neither promising permanent security 
; nor advantages proportionate to our victories : he nobly 
avowed his sentiments to her majesty, adding, that, as 
he could not concur in the measures of those who nor 
directed her councils, he would not distract them by a 
* fruitless 



SOS JOHN CHUCIIILI^ 

fruitless opposition ; but being attacked in the house of 
lords on the charge of having protracted the war from 
interested motives, he vindicated his conduct with such 
dignity and spirit, such pathos and energy, that admi- 
nistration strained every nerve to procure his dismission 
from all his employments, which in the sequel they ef- 
fected, to their own disgrace, and the essential injury of 
of the country. 

Abandoned by the queen, assailed by the clamours of 
the populace, and traduced by hired libellers, who are 
ready to espouse the cause of any ministry, and to insult 
where they can escape with impunity, his Grace thought 
proper to retire, and to gratify his enemies by a volun- 
tary exile. So little dependance can be placed on popu- 
lar applause, so little is the highest merit regarded when 
the fluctuating tide of opinion begins to change, that a 
bad man may meet with acclamations where he deserves 
censure, and a good man hisses where he is entitled to 
praise. The duke of Marlborough was too well ac- 
quainted with life to expect unalloyed satisfaction or 
unvarying favour in a public station. He knew that 
in proportion to a person's exaltation will be the pro- 
bability of his future depression; and that the more 
signally he is distinguished, the more he will be envied 
or traduced. He quitted the scene of contention and of 
temporary ingratitude, with the same heroic firmness 
which he had displayed when combating the enemies 
of his country, and landing at Ostend, was received 
every where, both in Germany and Flanders, with the 
loudest plaudits, and every honour due to his rank and 
character. On this occasion he visited the principality 
of Mindelheim, which had been conferred on him by 
the emperor, but was afterwards restored to the elector 
of Bavaria, by the treaty of Rastadt. 

. His most virulent opponents being now freed from 
apprehension by his absence, gradually lost their fury, 

.• v and 



DUKE OF MARLBOROUGH. 30Q 

and softened into candour. The peace which had been 
concluded was far from restoring harmony among the 
queen's servants, and it is said, that part of them enter- 
ed into negotiations with the duke to induce his return, 
in hopes of benefiting by his assistance in extricating 
them from the difficulties in which they were involved. 
Certain it is, that his Grace, having spent nearly two 
years on the continent, entered London, three days after 
the queen's demise, and was received with all possible 
demonstrations of joy. 

On the arrival of King George I, he was distinguished 
in a manner equal to his high deserts, and the. munifi- 
cence of a sovereign who knew how to appreciate them. 
He was restored to all the principal commands with 
which he had at any time been invested, and his counsel 
was of most essential value in crushing the rebellion of 
1715. This was the. last effort of his Grace's talents in 
public affairs. Broken by the fatigues of a laborious 
military life, and bending under the infirmities natural 
to declining years, he quitted the busy scene, and spent 
the remainder of his days in the tranquillity of rural re- 
tirement. 

He departed this life at Windsor-lodge, in the seventy- 
third year of his age, and was interred with the highest 
solemnities in Westminster abbey; whence his remains 
were afterwards removed, and deposited in the chapel at 
Blenheim, where a noble monument by Rysbrack is 
erected to his memory and that of his duchess. 

His Grace had the misfortune to lose his son, the 
marquis of Blandford, while a student at Cambridge. 
He left, however, four daughters, w T ho intermarried 
with the best families in the kingdom; and his estates 
and honours being entailed, by a<5t of parliament on 
the female line in succession, they are now vested in the 
descendants of the earl of Sunderland, who married 
the second daughter, 

Oa 



310 SIR ISAAC NEWTON. 

On the pedestal of a stately pillar, raised to the ho- 
nour of his Grace, in Blenheim-park, is a masterly de- 
lineation of his character and achievements, supposed 
to be drawn by lord Bolingbroke. We subjoin an ex- 
tract, as elegant as just. His life indeed, has never 
been written in a manner which his services demanded, 
and posterity had a right to expect:. 

John, duke of Marlborough, 

The hero, not only of his nation, but his age: 

Whose glory was equal in the council, and in the field ; 

Who by wisdom, justice, candour and address, 

Reconciled various, and even opposite interests, 

acquired an influence 

Which no rank, no authority, can give, 

Nor any force, but that of superior virtue 5 

Became the fixed, important centre, 

Which united, in one common cause, 

The principal. states of Europe; 

"Who by military knowledge, and irresistible valou* 

In a long series of uninterrupted triumphs, 

Broke the power of France, 

When raised the highest, when exalted the most : 

Rescued the Empire from desolation 5 
Asserted, and confirmed, the liberties of Europe. 



SIR ISAAC NEWTON, 

THE PHILOSOPHER OF THE UNIVERSE. 

Born 1642— Died 1726. 

From Ijt/i Charles I. t 12th George JF. 

Alt. intellectual eye, our polar round 
First gazing thro% he by the blended power 
Of gravitation and projection, saw 
The whole in silent harmony revolve ; 
From unassisted vision hid, the moons 
To cheei remoter planets numerous formM, 
By him in all their mingled tracts were seen. 
He also fixM our wandering queen of night, 
Whether §he wanes into a scanty orb, 



Or, 



SIR. ISAAC NEWTON. 

Or, waxing broad, with her pale shadowy light, 
In a (Soft deluge, overflows the sky. 
Her every motion clear discerning, he 
Adjusted to the mutual main, and 'taught 
Why now the mighty mass of water swells. 
Resistless, heaving on the broken rocks, 
And the full river turning, till again 
The tide revertive, unattracted, leaves 
A yellow waste of idle sands behind. 

Then .breaking hence, he took his ardent flight 
Thro' the blue infinite; and every star, 
Which the clear concave of a winter's night 
Pours on the eye, or astronomic tube, 
Far-stretching, snatches from the dark abyss ; 
Or such as farther in successive skies 
To fancy shine alone, at his approach 
Blaz'd into suns, the living centre each 
Of an harmonious system, all combinM, 
And rul\l unerring by that single power 
Which draws the stone projected to the ground 

He, first of men, with awful wing pursu'd 
The comet thro" the long elliptic curve, 
As round innumerous worlds he wound his way, 
Till, to the forehead of our evening sky 
Returned, the blazing wonder glares anew, 
And o'er the trembling nations shakes dismay. 

TrT aerial flow of sound was known to him, 
From whence it first in wavy circles breaks, 
Till thetouchM organ takes the message in. 
Nor could the darting beam of speed immense 
Escape his swift pursuit and measuring eye. 
Even light itself, which every thing displays, 
Shone undiscoverM, till his brighter mind 
Untwisted all the shining robe of day; 
And, from the whitening, undistinguished blaze, 
Collecting every ray into his kind, 
To the charmM eye educM the gorgeous train 
Of parent colours. First the flaming red 
Sprung vivid forth; the tawny orange next ; 
And next delicious yellow 5 by whose side 



Fell 



312 SIR ISAAC NEWTON. 

Fell the kind beams of all-refreshing green: 

Then the pure blue, that swells autumnal skies, 

Etheieal play'd ; and then, of sadder hue, 

EmergM the deepened indigo, as when 

The heavy-skirted evening droops with frost; 

While the' last gleamings of refraded light 

Died in the fading violet away. 

These, when the clouds distil the rosy shower, 

Shine outdistind adown the wat'ry bow, 

While o'er our heads the dewy vision bends 

.Delightful, melting on the fields beneath. 

Thomson's Foemon the death of Newton 

OF a man whose discoveries embrace nothing less 
than the universe itself, it cannot be expected of 
us to give an adequate account. The poet Thomson 
has, in the most precise terms, and in the fewest words, 
enumerated his principal, philosophical labours; and 
we must content ourselves with a rapid sketch of his life 
and character. If his genius soars above all competition, 
his amiable qualities invite respect and imitation: we 
are at once enlightened by his talents and amended by 
his virtues. 

Isaac Newton, one of the greatest philosophers and 
mathematicians that the world ever produced, was de- 
scended from an ancient family, which had been seated 
for nearly three centuries on the manor of Wolsthorpe, 
near Grantham, in Lincolnshire, where this prodigy of 
science, was born on Christmas-day, 1642. He lost his 
father while in his infancy 5 but his mother's brother, a 
clergyman in the vicinity, directed the affairs of the fa- 
mily for some time, and put the young philosopher to 
school at Grantham. Having gone through grammati- 
cal institution, his mother* who was alive, took him 
home, intending that he should be brought up to occu- 
py his paternal estate ©f about 1201. per annum, as his an- 
cestors had done for ages. But fortunately for the 
world, the peculiar genius of Newtoa began even at 

this 



SIR ISAAC NEWTON T . 313 

this early age to discover itself. His uncle accidentally 
found him in a hay-loft working a mathematical pro- 
blem ; he perceived the impulse of die boy's mind for 
learning, and judiciously resolved that it should not be 
diverted from its object. Newton was sent to Trinity 
college, Cambridge, where the penetrating eye of Dr. 
Isaac Barrow soon discovered the vast genius of the stu- 
dent, and their acquaintance ripened into a friendship 
which was propitious to his progress and his fame. 

Euclid, who bounds the mathematical attainments of 
most learners, was scarcely the study of a week to New- 
ton. With an intuitive clearness of intellect, he un- 
derstood the deepest problems of that author, almost be- 
fore he read them. He advanced at once into the • 
higher regions of geometry ; and it is no less astonishing 
than true that he had laid the foundation of his two im- 
mortal works, the Principia and Optics, before he 
had completed the twenty-fourth year of his age. 

But such was the steady judgment of Newton, and ^ 
his amiable diffidence of his own powers, that he was 
buoyed up by no vanity, nor did he wish to obtrude his 
discoveries on the public. Satisfied with academic ho- 
nours, and the applause of a few judges on a subject in 
which those few were competent to decide, he waved all 
pretensions to public fame, and examined every part of 
liis theories with rigorous severity, before he could be 
induced to submit them to the world. 

On the resignation of his patron and friend, Dr. Bar- 
row, he was chosen to fill the mathematical chair, in 
1 669, before which period he had discovered the doctrine 
of fluxions; a doctrine that facilitated his acquaintance 
with the most sublime parts of geometry. The same 
year he read a course of optical lectures ; and soon after 
we find him in correspondence ^with the Royal Society, 
:to which he communicated some curious observations. 

The most capital -discoveries have as frequently, been 
O the 



314 SIR ISAAC NEWTON. 

the result of fortuitous thought, as of patient investiga- 
tion. A happy incident gives rise to an original idea, 
and genius pursues it to its remotest consequences, and 
through all its ramifications. The theory of the uni- 
verse, which Newton solidly demonstrated, is said to 
have been suggested by a very trivial circumstance. As 
the philosopher was sitting alone in a garden, the fall- 
ing of some apples from a tree led him into a specula- 
tion on the power of gravity ; that as this power is not 
sensibly diminished at the remotest distance from the 
centre of the earth, to which we can rise, it appeared 
reasonable to conclude the extension of the principle 
through all matter. By pursuing this train of ideas, 
and comparing the periods of the several planets with 
their distances from the sun, he found that, if any power 
resembling gravity held them in their courses, its 
- strength must decrease in the duplicate proportion of 
the increased distance* 

This enquiry, which afterwards produced the most 
sublime discoveries, was resumed again and again ; and 
.every experiment which he tried, and every appearance 
in nature confirming his theories, in 1687 his "Mathe- 
matical Principles of Natural Philosophy" were com- 
pleted and published, under the auspices of the Royal 
Society. So great was Newton's modesty, that he did 
not chuse to risque a publication of such high import, 
without the concurrence of the most learned men in the 
kingdom; and the event justified hii prudence. The 
book, at first, was far from meeting with that universal 
applause which it was one day destined to receive. The 
pleasing but visionary hypothesis of Des Cartes had 
then obtained full possession of the world, and Newton's 
theories were too sublime to be comprehended at once, 
even by the acutest minds. But no sooner were his prin- 
ciples understood, than they extorted general assent to 
their truth j and the voice ;of applause rolled with in- 
creased 



SIR ISAAC NEWTON. 315 

creased energy and volume over every country where 
genuine science was diffused. 

The very same year in which this grand work made 
its appearance, he proved himself one of the most zea- 
lous defenders of his alma mater, against the unconsti- 
tutional attacks of James II. ; and, soon after, was 
chosen one of its members in the convention parliament. 

In 1696, by the interest of Mr. Montague, chancellor 
of the exchequer, who loved and patronised genius, he 
was appointed warden of the mint ; and, three years 
after, was raised to be master, which office he retained 
to the end of his life ; and in which situation he- was of 
signal service to his country, particularly in the then de- 
preciated state of the coinage. He now appointed 
Mr. Whiston his deputy in the professor's chair of ma- 
thematics at Cambridge, with the full salary ; and soon 
after -resigned wholly in favour of that able but impru- 
dent man. 

In 1703, he was chosen president of the Royal Soci- 
ety ; and without introducing the slightest reflection on 
present or past times, it may be affirmed, diat this office 
was never so respectably filled. He had previously been 
.elected a member of the Royal Academy of Sciences at 
Paris ; for the French, notwithstanding the predilection 
natural to every nation in favour of its own heroes and 
philosophers, soon relinquished the fanciful philosophy 
-of their countryman, Des Cartes, for the solid principles 
of Newton. 

Since he had first discovered the heterogeneous mix- 
ture of light, and the production of colours arising 
thence, much of his time had been employed in perfect- 
ing, and ascertaining, the theory on which his discovery 
was founded. In fact, this seems to have been his fa* 
vourite invention, and he spent no less than thirty years 
in verifying his own experiments. At last, his " Optics" 
O 2 appeared 



3 1 6 SIR TSA.AC NEWTON. 

appeared in 1704 ; and, in this science, he stands alto- 
gether unrivalled and alone. In his fluxions* and his 
principle of gravity, as applied to the solar system, there 
had been some •bscure hints from others ; but in dis- 
secting a ray of light into its primary constituent parti- 
cles, which then admitted of no farther separation ; in 
the discovery of the different refrangibility of these par- 
ticles when thus separated ; and, in short, in the whole 
arcana of optics which he developed, he was at once the 
original inventor and the finisher. Together with his 
" Optics," he published his "Fluxions," which had also 
long engaged his attention ; and, in fact,. from his aver- 
sion to literary disputes, he concealed this discovery so 
long, that Leibnitz attempted to claim the merit of the 
original invention; but in this he was completely foiled 
by the zeal and industry of Newton's friends. 

- Queen Anne, as a testimony of her approbation of his 
exalted merit, conferred the honour of knighthood on 
Newton, in 1705 ; and during the reign of George I. 
lie received the most flattering attentions from Caroline, 
princess of Wales : who, having a taste for philosophi- 
cal inquiries, courted his conversation with amiable con- 
descension, and was often heard to declare, that she 
congratulated herself on being born in the same age 
with Sir Isaac Newton. 

This princess obtained from him a copy of a chrono- 
logical work, which he had drawn up for his own amuse- 
ment, but with no design of committing to the press. 
Probably with a view to the extension of his fame, she 
allowed a transcript to be taken in confidence ; but the 
person who had got this treasure surreptitiously printed 
it in France, and involved our philosopher in some dis- 
putes, which it had been the whole study of his life to 
shun. Yet even Newton could not expect the felicity of 
extinguishing envy before the grave; he felt himself 

attacked 



SIR ISAAC NEWTON. 31? 

attacked more than once ; but the shafts which had beefi 
aimed at him- generally recoiled on the assailant, or fell 
pointless to the ground. 

After enjoying a settled and uniform state of health, 
the result of temperance and regularity, to the age of 
eighty, Sir Isaac began to be afflicted with an inconti- 
nence of urine. This was afterwards found to be in- 
curable, and the paroxysms of the disorder were some- 
times so violent, that large drops of sweat followed each 
other down his face. Under these afflicting circum- 
stances, the philosopher and the christian were equally 
conspicuous. Not a murmur escaped his lips : he di- 
senabled the acutest feelings of pain ; and, in the intervals 
of ease, displayed all the cheerfulness and good humour 
which had ever been the constant residents of his br 

Nature being at last worn out, Sir Isaac resigned his 
breath in the eighty-fifth year of his age ; and was ho- 
noured with a splendid funeral, and a monument in 
Westminster-abbey. The Latin inscription is a model 
of classic elegance arM nervous precision. 

It appears that Sir Isaac Newton was of a middling 
stature, and, towards the decline of life, disposed to cor- 
pulency. His countenance was venerably pleasing, but 
discovered little of that penetrating sagacity which 
marked his compositions. He never had occasion to 
use spectacles ; and it is said, that he lost only one tooth 
during his life. 

In contemplating the various excellencies of his pro- 
found genius; sagacity, penetration, energy of mind, 
and diligence, seem to vie with each other, so that it is 
difficult to say, for which of those endowments he was 
most conspicuous ; yet, with unaffected modesty, he dis- 
claimed all singular pretensions to superior talents ; and 
observed to one of his friends, who was complimenting 
him on his sublime discoveries, that, if he had done any 
thing in. science worthy of notice, it was owing to pa- 
3 tient 



33 8 SIR ISAAC NEWTON. 

tient industry of thinking rather than to extraordinary 
sagacity above other men. " I keep," said he, " the 
subject constantly before me, and wait till the first dawn- 
Ings open slowly, by little and little, into a full and clear 
light," Unvarying and unwearied attention, indeed, 
to any object will in time accomplish great things; but 
no perseverance, without an uncommon share of origi- 
nal genius, could form a Newton. 

His temper is said to have been remarkably mild and 
equable, and incapable of being ruffted by ordinary ac- 
cidents. He was such a lover of peace, that he regret- 
ted whatever disturbed it as the greatest calamity that 
could befall him. When some objections were started to 
his theory of light and colours, we find him thus ex- 
pressing his concern : " I blamed my own imprudence 
in parting with so real a blessing as my .quiet, to run 
after a shadow." In short, his magnanimity was such, 
that he would rather have lost the credit of the most 
sublime discoveries ever made by man, than have 
xisqued that tranquillity of mind, which, to a philoso- 
pher, is certainly the highest charm of life. 

He spent the prime of his days in those abstruse hv 
vestigations, which have immortalized his name, under 
the shade of academic bowsers ; but so little was he tinc- 
tured with peculiarity of taste or manners, that no sooner 
was he removed to the mint, than he devoted his chief 
attention to the duties of his station, and thenceforward 
regarded mathematics and philosophy only as secondary 
objects. Happily, however, for his country and man- 
kind, he had nearly exhausted the subjects of his research, 
by. what he had previously performed ; and he therefore 
turned to new avocations with less reluctance. 

His unaffected modesty was one of the most remark- 
able traits in his extraordinary character \ and seldom 
do we find eminent worth or genius without a consider- 
able share of this fascinating quality. He put himself 

on 



SIR ISAAC NEWTON. 3 1 Q 

on a level with every company. No singularities, na- 
tural or affected, distinguished him from other men y 
and the sharp eye of censoriousness could never charge 
him with the vanity of presumed superiority. 

Though attached tQ the church of England, he was 
averse to persecution of any kind. In his correct and 
enlightened sentiments, the schismatics were the vicious 
and die profane. Yet this liberal mode of thinking did 
not arise from any predilection' for natural religion: oa 
the contrary, he was deeply and seriously impressed 
with the truth of revelation, and he studied the Bible 
longer, and with more intense application, than any 7 
other book. 

Sir Isaac was economical and frugal from principle,. 
but he was^guilty of no meanness in accumulating 
wealth ; nor are there wanting instances of his genero- 
sity, when fortune had put it in his power to be liberal* 
When circumstances required it, he indulged in expence 
with a good grace 5 but he had no taste for that osten- 
tatious sort of magnificence, which little minds think 
indicative of importance. He wanted no external shew to 
set offhh solid merit ; and his character being really 
great, he had no affectation of appearing wiser or bet- 
ter than other men. 

Sir Isaac Newton never entered into the matrimonial 
state ; nor, perhaps, had he leisure to think of love , 
During the prime of his years, he was immersed in those 
abstracted speculations in which the passions have little 
share ; and he was afterwards engaged in an important 
employment, and sufficiently taken up with company ; 
so that he appears scarcely to have felt the want of do- 
mestic endearments. Indeed, a person who would pur- 
sue his studies, on occasions, three hours after his dinner 
was on the table, or sit for as long a time half undressed 
on going to bed or getting up in the morning, his mind 
wholly absorbed in speculation, would have found ma- 
O 4f trimony 



820 • SIR ROBERT WALPOLE. 

trimony an incumbrance. In fact, it has been said, that 
his exemption from the entanglements of love, and from 
a taste for wine, was the great secondary means of his 
successful attainments in knowledge. 



SIR ROBERT WALPOLE, 

EARL OP ORFORD. 

Born 16.7£— Died 1745. 
From 2bth Charles 11. to 18th' George IT. 

THEPvE must surely be some latent fascination hi 
power, " to vulgar souls unknown ;" else, where 
is the man who would be ambitious to support the of- 
fice of prime minister for the space of twenty years ; 
harassed by its duties, absorbed in political intrigues, 
exposed to the malignity of opponents, and often tra- 
duced by -his country for perhaps 'really prudent and 
meritorious services ? The subject of the following pages 
made a conspicuous figure in the councils of two sove- 
reigns, and long directed the machine of state ,~ he ap- 
pears, however, neither to deserve all the panegyric that 
has been lavished- on him by his friends, nor all the ob- 
loquy that has been aimed at him by his enemies. 

The family of Robert Walpole had flourished for ages 
in the county of Norfolk, and was of considerable note; 
but he increased its honours with many splendid addi- 
tions. He was born at Houghton, and educated on the 
foundation at Eton ; whence he was elected to King's 
college, Cambridge. We have no memorials of his ju- 
venile days that deserve enumeration : he appears to 
have been as much indebted to his good fortune, as to 
his extraordinary talents, for the distinctions which he 
acquired. 

In the twenty-sixth year of his age, he was returned 

to 



SIR ROBERT WALPOLE. 311 

to parliament for King's Lynn,* in Norfolk, and repre- 
sented that borough for a number of years. He had 
not been long a member of the house of commons, be- 
fore his popular and plausible species of eloquence at- 
tracted notice ; for we find that in 1705 he was appoint- 
ed one of the council to his royal highness George, 
prince of Denmark, lord high admiral of England ; and 
afterwards made successively secretary at war, and trea- 
surer of the navy. 

When an impeachment gave Dr. Sacheverel a degree 
of celebrity which his talents would never have acquired, 
Walpole was chosen one of the managers to make good 
the articles against him ; and among the rest he received 
the thanks of the house for his services. 

A change of administration taking place in 1710, he 
was removed from all his posts ; and next year, on ac- 
count of his attachment to the great duke of Marlbo- 
rough, and his opposition to the tory ministry, he was 
charged with corrupt practices while secretary of Avar, 
voted guilty of a high breach of trust, expelled the 
house, and committed to the Tower. The object of his 
enemies, however, in passing this sentence on him, was 
more probably to disgrace Walpole in the eyes of the 
nation, than to secure the ends of public justice. The 
whigs considered him as a martyr in their cause, 
the borough of Lynn re-elected him, and persisted in 
its choice. The more he was depressed, the more popu- 
lar he became ; and he exerted his eloquence on some 
important occasions in such a manner as to rivet tho 
affections of the people. 

On the death of the queen, the whig party trmmpietf, 
and the known zeal of Walpole in favour of the Hano- 
verian succession, added to his abilities as a speaker, 
pointed him out to the regard of George I. immediately 
on his accession. Accordingly he was made paymastci 
to the army, and sworn a privy-counsellor. 

5 When 



322 SIR ROBERT WALPOLE. 

When a new parliament was convened, the conduct of 
the last ministry was one of the first objects of animad- 
version. A committee of secrecy was chosen, of which 
Walpole was constituted chairman; and, under his ma* 
nagement, articles of impeachment were voted by the 
commons against Oxford, BolingbrOke, Ormond, and 
Strafford, who had been the chief promoters of a peace, 
which the nation considered as very inadequate in its 
terms to the brilliant successes of the war. Walpole's 
services in this affair, which savoured, however, pretty 
strongly of party spleen, were so generally acceptable, 
that he soon rose to be first lord of the treasury and 
chancellor of the exchequer. 

Notwithstanding the peacemakers had been removed 
from their stations, and Bolingbroke, reputed the most 
eminent in talents, had fled to avoid the storm, unani- 
mity did not long prevail in the new councils. The in- 
fluence of secretary Stanhope and his adherents appear- 
ed to preponderate over that of Walpole, and the weight 
of the latter was gradually decreasing in the scale of ad- 
ministration. He felt the slippery ground on which he 
stood, and began to look about him with the crafty vi- 
gilance of a courtier. 

In April, 1717* Mr. Secretary Stanhope delivered a 
royal message to the house of commons, demanding an 
extraordinary supply, the object of which was obviously 
to secure some new purchases in Germany from the at- 
tacks of Charles Xli. of Sweden, out of whose hands 
they had originally been wrested. The secretary having 
moved that this supply should be granted, a long and 
impassioned debate took place, in which Walpole was 
observed to keep a profound silence. He knew that the 
country or independent members considered this pro- 
ceeding as contrary to the act of settlement, and by ta- 
citly joining with the strongest side, he hoped to gain 
the ascendancy over his rivals in office, without actually 

offending 






SIR ROBERT WALPOLE; 323 

offending his majesty. This temporizing policy, how- 
ever, he was not permitted to observe. In the course 
of the debate some of the members, who were hostile to 
the supply, noticed the apparent division among his ma- 
jesty's ministers. Walpole felt himself committed, and 
spoke in favour of the motion, which at last was carried 
by a majority of only four votes* 

A man, less versed in the intrigues of courts than 
Walpole, must have now foreseen, that with so slender a 
majority,, no British ministry could stand its ground- 
He therefore took the wisest alternative, and resigned, 
that he might retain some credit with the popular party ; 
but merely, as it afterwards appeared, with the view of 
-being restored with greater plenitude of power. Fac- 
tious movements, like these, are not unfrequent ; yet in 
every age, how many dupes, are there to such deceptions t~ 

On the very day of his resignation, Walpole brought 
in the famous sinking-fund bill, which has since been so 
often perverted to purposes different from its original 
destination* that till within these few years it has proved 
a nuisance rather than a benefit to the nation*. Under 
the auspices of Mr. Pitt, it bids fair to redeem this 
country from a load of debts and taxes, and will be a 
splendid monument of his abilities and perseverance, to 
which posterity will look with veneration* 

In the debates on this bill, tjie contest became so warm 
between Walpole and Stanhope, that on some severe ex- 
pressions from the latter, the former lost his usual happy 
command of temper, and retorted with great warmth* 
The ^acrimony on both sides betrayed circumstances 
which it would have been for the credit of each to con- 
ceal ; on i /hkh a member,' with poignant irony, observed* 
<* that he was sorry to see those two great men fall foul 
©Fone another; however," said he, " since they have* 
by mischance, discovered their nakedness, we ought, ac- 
O 6 cording 



324 SIR ROBERT WALPOLE. 

cording" to the custom of the east, to conceal it, by turn- 
ing our backs upon them." 

In the next session of parliament, Walpole affected to 
be the flaming patriot, and was the determined opposer 
of administration in every thing. He could see no me- 
rit in any measure that militated against his own ambi- 
tion for place; and, as the ministry had stood longer 
than he imagined, he now exerted all his powers of 
eloquence to render himself formidable, or to effect their 
fall. 

The lure of office, however, being holden out to his 
view, he softened his tone, and the courtier began to un- 
mask his real character. Walpole was again, appointed 
paymaster of the forces, and several of his friends were 
likewise promoted. His conversion was now sincere, 
and henceforward he pleaded as strongly in defence of 
ministerial measures as he had formerly impugned them. 
His new-born zeal facilitated his accession to the high- 
est summit of power. He was again appointed first 
lord of the treasury and chancellor of the exchequer; 
and when the king visited the continent in 1723, he was 
nominated one of the lords justices, and sworn sole se- 
cretary of state. About this time too he deceived ano- 
ther mark of royal favour, in the elevation of his son to 
a peerage, while he himself was made knight of the bath, 
and soon after knight of the garter ! 

Such an" accumulation of honour and emolument 
upon one family, with a rapidity almost unexampled, 
naturally excited envy or dissatisfaction ; and, as the 
measures of Sir Robert's administration were often no- 
vel and bold, the press teemed with violent invectives 
against him. But the equanimity of his mind preserved 
him from feeling their envenomed force, and the well- 
disciplined parliamentary phalanx, by which he was 
supported, maintained him, in spite of all opposition, 

in 



SIR ROBERT WALPOLE. 325 

in the office of premier, through a period, of which, in 
point of duration, our annals furnish few parallel exam- 
ples. 

To enter into the principles of his conduct, and to ap- 
preciate his merits and defects, for the space of twenty 
years, cannot be expected in any limited work. To 
impartial history be it left, to discern truth through the 
exaggerations of political friendship, and the misrepre- 
sentations of political enmity. 

Sir Robert Walpoie has been branded as the father of 
corruption. That he was the first minister who exer- 
cised undue influence, cannot he allowed; but he, per- 
haps, deserves the censure of rearing and reducing it 
into a system. When there is so little pure virtue in 
private life, why, alas! should we expect it in public, 
where the temptations are so much greater and more 
numerous ? Far be it from us to advocate, as some have 
done with the grossest effrontery, the cause of political 
venality and corruption ; yet we would not willingly 
think every man who serves his country for emolument, 
wholly lpst to the calls of a generous patriotism, or like- 
ly to sacrifice its interest to a pension, a place, or a bribe, 
if any momentous and eventful crisis should take place. 

After long directing the helm cf state, Sir Robert 
Walpoie was at last driven from power, by intrigues 
not more deep, but more powerful than his own. In 
174*2, finding that he was no longer able to carry a ma- 
jority in the house of commons, he resigned all his 
places, and fled for shelter behind the throne. After 
much difficulty and opposition, the commons agreed 
that a committee should be appointed to enquire into 
the conduct of the fallen minister ; but the investigation, 
to which this was intended to lead, was rejected by the 
house of lords : and the two houses being at variance 
on this account, his majesty, in order to screen his old 
servant, was obliged to prorogue the parliament. 

Meanwhile 



326 SIH ROBERT WALPOLE. ^ 

Meanwhile he was created earl of Orford, and receiv- 
ed a pension of 40001. a year, in consideration of his 
long and faithful services. The people, however, con- 
tinued loud in their cry for vengeance ; and an ineffectual 
attempt was made next session of parliament, to revive 
the proceedings against him. At last the ferment sub- 
sided : and Orford retired to domestic privacy and peace, 
which, from the serenity of his natural temper, he seem- 
ed eminently qualified to enjoy. Whatever objections 
may have been alleged against his ministerial conduct, 
his private character was universally allowed to be re- 
plete with amiable and benevolent qualities. He was 
the fond indulgent parent, the kind master, the benefi- 
cent patron, the firm friend, and the agreeable compa- 
nion. It was impossible not to love the man, however 
the premier might be censured and reprobated - % and yet 
we do not conceive that he was more culpable in his 
public character, than many other great men, who have: 
since steered the vessel of state. 

The compliment which Pope pays this celebrated, 
statesman in reply to one of his friends, who bids him go? 
and see Sir Robert, will be more durable than the monu- 
mental brass, and shews his estimable private worth; 

Seen him 1 have, hut in his happier hour 
Of social pleasure, ill exchanged for pow'r j 
Seen him,, uncumbex'd with the venal tribe,, 
Smile without art, and win without a bribe.. 

Lord Orford did not long survive his resignation* 
Mankind in general look forward to the calm of? declin- 
ing life with complacency and satisfaction ; but the am* 
bitious mind, inured to the bustle of business or intrigue* 
is seldom happy in the shade. The creatures, of habit* 
we pine for the gratifications which we have lost ; and 
at the close of our days we find it too late to form new 
connections, and to cater for new pursuits* When life is 
once planned into method, and established in principle, 

every 



EARL OF STAIR. 32/ 

every deviation gives us pain, and every change, how- 
ever much it may flatter in prospect, is sure to disappoint 
us in possession. Happy is he who can early sit down 
content, nor ever heaves a sigh for change ! 



JOHN DALRYMPLE, 

EARL OF STAIR. 
Bora 1673— Died 1747. 
From 24 ^ Charles II. to 20th George T. 

SOME men dazzle for a time by a specious lustre, 
but suddenly glide like an unsubstantial meteor 
from our sight. Others, with qualities fitted to adorn 
the highest stations, being cramped in their energies and 
confined to a narrow sphere, cast, like the glow-worm, a 
feeble light, which is noticed only by near observers. 
It was, however, the happier fortune of lord Stair to 
possess those talents and virtues which are honourable 
and useful to his kind, and to be called to the discharge 
of duties which made them appear to the best advan- 
tage. Born to high rank, and invested with great com- 
mands, he reflected more honour on place and title than 
he received ; and v/as not only the idol of his own times, 
but will be a theme of applause to all posterity. As a 
hero, a politician, and a man, he exhibited an example 
of all that is great and good; so that he may safely be 
holden up as a model of imitation to future ages, as well 
as the ©rnament of his own. 

This accomplished ncbleman was the eldest son of 
the first earl of Stair. Even when an infant he displayed 
his ruling passion, the love of military glory. He mus- 
tered a regiment of boys of his own age, which he called 
by his own name; and in a short time he rendered 
them so perfect in such evolutions as suited his youthful 
fancy, that his future heroism and success might even 

7 then 



328 JOHN BALRYMPLE, 

then have been presaged by a penetrating eye. Warm- 
ed with the enthusiasm of virtue, and possessing a mag- 
nanimity beyond his years, he shewed his aversion to 
whatever was dastardly or mean in his associates, and 
encouraged in them whatever was manly and decorous. 

By the age often he had made astonishing progress 
in the learned languages, under a private tutor ; the 
French of course became an easy acquisition. At four- 
teen years of age he had run through the usual routine 
of academic studies at the university of Edinburgh ; 
and was equally distinguished for his natural and ac- 
quired accomplishments. 

But although his predilection for a military life had 
displayed itself so early, his father at first intended him 
for the law; and this affords a strong example of the 
strange inattention in parents to the bias of their chil- 
dren's minds. There are many indeed, who may, with- 
out violence, be put to any profession, because they 
have no particular aptitude or inclination for one rather 
than another: but, when the genius seems to have an 
original and honourable direction, it is worse than folly 
to attempt an alteration. The earl of Stair, however, 
was not one of those parents who will not recede from a 
preconceived idea : he at once yielded to the importunity 
of his son, and sent him, while still a boy, into Holland, 
where he initiated himself in the study of arms, under 
that excellent commander, William, prince of Orange ; 
who testified for the young hero both the respect due 
to his promising talents and the affectionate tenderness 
of a father. 

Here he made a rapid progress in fortification and 
gunnery, and in various modern languages, which he 
afterwards spoke with purity and fluency. Here, too, 
he inhaled that spirit of liberty and independence, which 
he afterwards breathed in every air, and displayed in 
every action. 

About 






EARL OF STAIR. 32() 

About the era of our glorious Revolution, he returned 
to his native country ; and, through his eloquence and 
his address, drew over numbers tothe cause of William, 
by his pathetic representation of what the protestants. 
suffered on the continent, and the dangerous ambition 
of the house of Bourbon, All were charmed with his 
manners and his sentiments ; a»d almost all who heard 
or beheld him, became converts to his principles. 

William was not unmindful of his youthful zeal ; he 
took him in his service to Ireland, where he displayed 
the greatest personal resolution ; and, in the beginning 
of 1691, he accompanied his royal master to Holland. 

The reception which Dalrymple found here was flat- 
tering in the extreme ; he was caressed by all ranks : 
and soon after received a colonel's commission; nor was 
it long before he had an opportunity of particularly dis- 
tinguishing himself in the glorious but unsuccessful bat- 
tle of Steenkirk, fought in 1692. All the officers be- 
haved well, but Dalrymple performed prodigies of va- 
lour. He rallied his regiment, after the ranks had been 
broken by the enemy's artillery, and stopped their pur- 
suit, till the rest of the brigade had time to form. 

From this time nothing remarkable occurs in the life 
of colonel Dalrymple till 1702, when he^appeared again 
at the head of his regiment, in Flanders, under the victo- 
rious duke of Marlborough; he served in most of his 
Grace's campaigns, and by his military genius, his un- 
shaken fortitude, and amiable manners, won the regard 
and esteem of that great commander. It is impossible 
to do justice to the achievements of Dalrymple, in a 
long series of the most brilliant actions and successes, 
crowded into so narrow a space of time. Suffice it to 
say, that scarcely any memorable affair took place in 
which he did not participate, and bear away his full 
share of glory. 

When the duke of Marlborough returned home, m 

1709, 



330 JOHN DALRYMPLE, 

1709, he introduced colonel Dalrymple to her majesty, 
with the most liberal encomiums on his services : and 
his father dying soon after, the queen, as a reward for 
his military services, and a trial of his political talents, 
sent the young earl of Stair ambassador-extraordinary 
to Augustus II. king of Poland ; who, charmed at least, 
if not influenced by his lordship's amiable ' qualities, 
heartily entered into all die measures of the allies, which 
the ambassador was commissioned to recommend and 
enforce. 

After residing four years at the Polish court, with 
honour to himself and advantage to his country, he was 
recalled ; and the political friends, with whom he was 
connected by every tie of gratitude and esteem, being 
displaced, he was involved in their fate. On this occa- 
sion, his native integrity was proved beyond a doubt ; 
so little had he regarded his individual interest, that he 
had contracted a considerable debt ; and his plate and 
equipage would have been seized, had it not been for 
the generous interference of his countryman, lieutenant 
Lawson, who offered him a sum of money to redeem 
them. The gratitude of the earl of Stair to this gentle- 
man ever after, was as honourable as the friendship 
which he had experienced. 

He now retired to a country life, but was not long 
doomed to inglorious inactivity. On the accession of 
George I. he was appointed one of the lords of the bed- 
chamber, sworn of the privy-council, and soon after 
made commander-in-chief of the forces in North Britain. 
His influence in his native country was so great, that 
he rendered the highest service to the ministry in the re- 
turns to the new parliament that met in 1715, and was 
himself elected one of the sixteen peers. At this crisis, 
an ambassador of genius, fortitude, penetration, and ad- 
dress, was peculiarly wanted at the court of Versailles, 
and the earl of Stair was pitched on as the person who 

possessed 



EARL OF STAIR.. 331 

possessed all those qualities in an eminent degree; and, 
indeed, the high expe<5tations entertained of him were 
amply gratified. Though lord Stair had to counteract 
the policy of the most intriguing court on earth, he de- 
veloped its latent designs with so much sagacity, and 
contended for the interests of his country with so little 
fear, that he was no less respected than dreaded by the 
French government. He dived into the deepest councils 
©f jLouis and the Pretender, and frustrated their designs, 
in general, before they were ripe for execution. On the 
death of the king of France, he intimidated the regent 
to such a degree by a very spirited memorial, that the 
latter reludtantly withdrew the promised assistance to 
the Pretender; and the puny efforts to excite a rebellion 
in Scotland came to nothing. 

As a negociator the earl of Stair attracted a deserved 
notice, and shone unrivalled in his day. His disinte- 
rested character gave force to his remonstrances, and 
his high spirit would not brook chicanery or delay. He 
supported the honour and dignity of his country with a 
boldness that, in ordinary men, would have been deemed 
insolence or rashness. When the duke of Orleans, 
regent of France, came in great state to visit him, and 
had set one foot on the ground, but kept the other 
fixed on the step of the coach, lord Stair, who advanced, 
observing this posture, halted, and demanded of the at- 
tendants on his highness, M if his master came to visit 
him as his Britannic majesty's ambassador, or as earl of 
Stair !" Receiving no answer, he added, " if he comes 
to see lord Stair, 1 shall reckon it my greatest honour ta 
receive any officer of the crown, much more the duke 
regent, at the door of his coach ; but, if he comes to 
visit the ambassador of my august and royal master, 1 
should deem myself unworthy of the trust reposed in me f 
if I went a step farther than I have done." 

This being reported to die regent, he drove away, 

and 



332 JOHN DALRYMPLE, 

and caused it to be notified to his excellency, that hi* 
appearance at court would be dispensed with. For 
some months this coolness continued ; but the earl hear- 
ing of some naval equipments, which could not be 
looked at with indifference, forced his way to an audi- 
ence ; and argued with so much spirit, and shewed such „ 
an intimate knowledge of the most secret designs in the 
different courts of the continent, that the regent was 
forced into a confession of some very deep and extensive 
machinations against the tranquillity of-Britain. 

In short, his abilities had such an ascendancy over the 
regent before he left France, that his highness -being 
once publicly asked, what part he would take in the 
troubles of the north, answered, " just what the British 
ambassador pleases." Nor was he less acceptable to 
the people in general ; he was benevolent and charita- 
ble, and endeared to the lower ranks by his splendor 
and hospitality. 

Indeed the honour of his country had ever been the 
ruling motive of the earl of Stair. He had involved 
himself considerably in debt, in supporting his high 
character at the French court ; and, being unwilling to 
contract the scale of his magnificenee, he solicited and 
obtained his recall. The king, however was so well 
pleased with the conduct of his ambassador, that he de- 
clared he would have created him a duke, had not the 
law of the union opposed it, and evinced such' a sense 
of his fidelity that no eulogium could go beyond it. 
The people on the other hand, echoed back the praises 
of their sovereign, and every voice resounded with ap- 
plause., The favour of George I. remained unabated 
to the last ; and, on his late majesty's ascending the 
throne, he was received into the same confidence. In 
.addition to the other honourable posts which he held, 
he was made lord admiral of Scotland in 1730 ; but no 
blandishments could divert him from what he consi- 
dered 



EARL OF STAIR. 333 

dered as his duty to his country : and, when the plan 
of an excise was first brought into parliament by Sir 
Robert Walpole, he was one of those who opposed it 
on the purest principles ; and soon after, resigned all 
his places. Yet he shewed no hostility against the mi- 
nister : and on every occasion behaved with a modera- 
tion suitable to the dignity of his character. 

Disencumbered of office, his lordship now betook 
himself to the practice of agriculture ; and by the im- 
provements which he introduced, was no less beneficial 
to his country than when in his proudest exaltation. 
He was still visited and caressed by all who were esti- 
mable in worth, celebrated for talents, or dignified by 
rank. In urbanity, and colloquial fascination, he had 
no equal ; and the excellent qualities of his heart were 
correspondent to the brightest display of his acquired 
accomplishments. 

While employed in rural pursuits, a change of minis- 
try took place ; a war was on the eve of breaking out, 
and his lordship was again invited into the service of 
his country. With the approbation of every good sub- 
ject, and of every true Briton, he was, in 174??* made 
field-marshal of his majesty's forces, and ambassador- 
ex traordinary and plenipotentiary to the States-general. 
The king now, emancipated from the councils of Wal- 
pole, received him with a degree of tenderness and af- 
fection, which convinced every spectator how much he 
esteemed him : and soon afterwards sent him to Hol- 
land, where his eloquence and arguments had so much 
weight with their High Mightinesses, that they were not 
tardy in adopting the views of the British court. 

To enumerate every praise-worthy action of this great 
general and .politician, would swell this article to an 
improper length. At the successful battie.qf Dettingen, 
where he commanded in chief, he shewed the same un- 
shaken courage, spirit, and intrepidity, as had adorned 
2 ' his 



334 EARL OF STAIH. 

his youthful years ; but finding active service too heavy 
at this season of life, he petitioned soon after to resign, 
and resumed his rural occupations with fresh delight. 

However, on the breaking out of the rebellion in 
1745, he repaired to court, and made a tender of his 
services, which were gladly accepted. He accompanied 
the duke of Cumberland to Edinburgh, and assisted his 
operations. This was the last public service which he 
was able to perform. His health gradually gave way, 
or, rather, age asserted its sovereign sway over his con- 
stitution, and in May, 1747, he breathed his last. 

The patrician youth, whose bosom beats high for 
glory, and who view's her temple within his reach, will 
contemplate the character of field-marshal the earl of 
Stair w r ith emulation and delight ; while those whose 
prospects are more limited, may copy this illustrious 
pattern in all the virtues of his heart, with pleasure and 
advantage. Equally fitted for camps or courts, he 
shone in both with distinguished lustre. His honour 
was unimpeached, and his veracity would admit no 
compromise with deception. He was great without 
pride, just without rigour, and bountiful without osten- 
tation. His soul melted at distress, and his hand was 
ever open to relieve merit, or his favour to raise and 
cherish it. In a word, he possessed accomplishments 
and virtues which dignify human nature, exalted his 
country, and benefited his king. 

In person, he was above the ordinary stature, but 
graceful and handsome to an uncommon degree. His 
inien inspired respect ; and on his countenance was im- 
printed the soft smile of benignity, the emanation of a 
humane and virtuous heart. Indeed, all the graces of 
his person were but so many indications of the superior 
beauties of his mind ; and the love and admiration which 
he attracted were less paid as compliments to his exalted 
rank and station, than as a just tribute to his genuine 
worth and merit. 



( 335 ) 
SIR HANS SLOAN E, 

Born 1660— Died 1752. 
From Uth Charles II. to 2btk George II. 

THOSE who smooth the road to science or lite- 
rature, and facilitate its acquisition to others, are 
often more permanently useful than such as are super- 
eminently learned themselves. The greatest personal 
or mental acquirements die with the possessors : but 
those who labour that others may be wise, are a benefit 
to all posterity. The founders of schools, of colleges, 
of lectures, and libraries, are^ therefore, entitled to no 
mean praise ; and their fame deserves to live in the ge- 
nius which they have excited, the patronage which they 
have bestowed, and the facilities which , they have af- 
forded to learning and to knowledge. 

As an author, Sloane was distinguished for one work 
only ; " The Natural History of Jamaica ;" as a natu- 
ralist and physician, he had equals, if not superiors ; 
but, as the founder of "that noble institution, the British 
Museum, he claims a niche in the temple of British wor- 
thies ; nor will we refuse him our humble tribute of ap- 
plause. 

Hans Sloane was a native of Killileagh, in the north 
of Ireland, but of Scotch extraction. The first dawn- 
ings of intellect discovered a strong propensity to re- 
searches into the mysteries of nature and the curiosities 
of art.; and his parents, with a judgment which merits 
praise, enoourged his taste by a suitable education. Na- 
tural history was his delight, and by an easy transition, 
the medical art was adopted as a profession. To per- 
fect himself in this he repaired to London, the general 
repository and mart of knowledge, where he attended 
the public lectures in every branch of science, connected 
with Jais favourite pursuits* 



336 . SIR HANS SLOANE. 

Though so young a man, and without the recom- 
mendation of great alliances, he had the felicity to at- 
tract the notice of the amiable Boyle, and the inquisitive 
Ray ; the former, one of the greatest experimental phi- 
losophers that ever lived, the latter, the best naturalist; 
and botanist of his age. Under the auspices of those 
gentlemen, Sloane improved his natural abilities, and 
cultivated his particular taste to a high degree. A si- 
milarity of pursuits made them friends ; and the young 
student was not ungrateful for the patronage that he 
received. 

Having spent four years in London with unremitted 
attention to his favourite studies, he was advised to tra- 
vel for further improvement. The university of Paris, 
at that time, was distinguished for its eminent profes- 
sors in every branch of ihe healing art ; and there 
Sloane determined to become a pupil. Meanwhile he 
frequented the public hospitals, contradled an acquain- 
tance with the most distinguished physicians, and every 
where experienced that reception which is due to sci- 
ence and to talents. 

As a candidate for a solid reputation in the first ranks 
ef his profession, he omitted no opportunity of acquir- 
ing knowledge; he thought no pains too great that 
opened a new field of improvement. From Paris he 
-went, with warm and ample recommendations, to the 
most illustrious physicians and naturalists at Montpe- 
lier, a situation peculiarly favourable for botanical re- 
searches ; and here he spent a whole year in the capti- 
vating investigation of nature's spontaneous produc- 
tions. 

About the close of 1684, Sloane returned to London, 
where he resolved to settle, and practise as a physician. 
His fame had preceded him ; and the immortal Syden- 
ham, a man too great to be tinftured with the meanness 
of professional jealousy, took him not only under his 

patronage, 



SIR RANS SLOANE. 337 

patronage, bat his roof, and introduced him with the 
wannest zeal to his friends. Thus, in superior minds 
we find a generosity of sentiment which disdains all sel- 
fish considerations, while grovelling souls are absorbed 
in private views, and hate tryit excellence which they 
cannot reach. The compliment paid by Sydenham to 
the young physician was, no doubt, justly due to his 
skill and accomplishments; but how few are so fortu- 
nate as to have their worth allowed, much less blazoned 
to the world, by professional rivals for honour and emo- 
lument ! 

Having transmitted to his friend Ray, a great va- 
riety of seeds and plants from France, by the influence 
of that sedulous enquirer into nature, he was proposed 
as a member of the Royal Society, and received with 
very flattering tokens of respect. The following year 
he was elected a fellow of the Royal College of Physi- 
cians ; and his reputation was now so firmly established, 
that he might have realized any expectation which h:r. 
most sanguine wishes could have formed. 

The ruling passion, however, overcame the love of 
ease, and the accumulation of riches. The duke of Al- 
bemarle, who had just been appointed governor of Ja- 
maica, made overtures to Sloane C accompany him in 
quality of his physician. This opened a new field to his 
inquisitive mind : nature had not yet been unveiled 
in the West Indies, and he panted to be the handmaid 
of her charms, and to rifle her sweets without a rival. 
No representations of his friends could prevail on him to 
relinquish his design of accepting the offer that had 
beeti made him ; and during the space of fifteen months' 
residence in Jamaica, his industry in collecting plants 
was so indefatigable, that he accumulated more than 
the best botanists of the time imagined to be indigenous 
in that climate, or, indeed, in both the Indies. 

The curiosity of Sloane being now fully gratified, 

and 



338 SIR HANS SLOANE. 

and his reputation crowned with new accessions, he re- 
turned to London, and resumed his practice ; which was 
soon as extensive as his abilities were great. Being 
chosen physician of Christ hospital, he gave an illustri- 
ous proof of his philanthropy and disinterestedness, by 
applying the whole amount of his salary to the relief of 
the most indigent and miserable among the patients of 
the house. For restoring health to the poor, he thought 
it mean to reap emolument. Of this beneficent and 
noble disposition, we find many other instances among 
the disciples of iEsculapius ; but few occur in any other 
profession. 

Being elected secretary of the Royal Society, in 1693, 
he had the honour of reviving the publication of the 
*' Philosophical Transactions," which had for some 
time been intermitted, and greatly enriched the volumes, 
for many years, with his own original contributions. 
But an attention to this department of literature did not 
limit his pursuits. For some years he had employed 
his vacant hours, if a liberal and cultivated mind can be 
said to have them, in collecting whatever was rare and 
curious in nature or art ; and his cabinet was so well 
filled, that it soon merited the inspection of the learned. 
Among others who'visited this repository, and respected 
its ingenious author, was Mr. Couston, a gentleman of 
fortune, who had spent his time, and a liberal share of 
his income, in the same pursuits. A congeniality of 
mind and taste devoted him to Dr. Sloane. Anxious 
that his own collection, and his name, should be perpe- 
tuated, he thought he could not better provide for both, 
than by adding his museum to that of Sloane, and ac- 
cordingly he bequeathed him the whole. 

The Slonean cabinet thus became one of the first in 
Europe ; and the learning, skill, industry, and public 
spirit of the proprietor seemed to claim some distin- 
guished honour. Foreigners had duly estimated Dr. 

Sloane's 



SIR HANS SLOANE. 33Q 

Sloane's high merit as a professional man, and a natu- 
ralist ; and his sovereign was ready to reward it. About 
J 720, George I. to whom he had been first physician 
for some time, raised him to the dignity of a baronet. 
He was likewise appointed president of the college of 
physicians, and filled the president's chair in the Royal 
Society, as successor of the immortal Newton. These 
honours at home were allowed by other nations to be 
well earned ; Sir Hans Sloane was elected a member of 
the Royal Academy of Paris ; and his correspondence 
was courted by almost every learned society in Europe. 

From this period, Sloane and Mead were the only' 
two physicians of distinguished reputation in the metro- 
polis ; and such was the extent of their practice, that 
they are said to have cleared each about 60001. a year. 
The one as we have seen, was introduced by Sydenham, 
and the other by _Radcli£fe ; who, during their own time, 
divided the iEsculapian honours in the capital. 

Borne down by weight of years, and laden with ho- 
nours and opulence, Sir Hans Sloane, in 174-9, retired 
to Chelsea, to enjoy in peaceful tranquillity, the few- 
moments of life that were yet to run. He did not, how- 
ever, court solitude, but only an exemption from the 
toils of business. He was daily visited by persons of 
high rank and distinguished literary attainments, whe- 
ther natives or foreigners. A day was set apart, weekly, 
for a gratuitous'exhibition cf his museum, and another 
day was devoted to the relief of the sick poor, to whom 
Sir Hans was a liberal beuefa&oj during a long and 
well spent life. 

From the age of sixteen, this valuable man had been 
subject to pulmonary complaints, and occasional hy- 
moptesis ; but by temperance and medicine he over- 
came this radical infirmity, and reached an uncommon 
degree of longevity. In January, 1?52, he expired with- 
out a groan, in the ninety-first year of his age ; posse- 
F 2 * sei 



340 SIR HANS SLOANE. 

sed of all his faculties to the last, and crowned with ho- 
nour and glory. 

In person, Sir Hans was full and well proportioned ; 
in manners, polished and captivating ; in conversation, 
sprightly and facetious. As a physician he was remark- 
ably successful, and deserves great credit for being the 
first who introduced the free use of that valuable spe- 
cific, the Jesuit's bark, tried by him, and found effica- 
cious in a variety of complaints, to which, before his 
time, it had never been administered. 

But the best part of his character was his genuine 
charity and philanthropy. As his abilities to do good 
increased, so did his disposition. He was a governor of 
almost every hospital in London, and, besides his post- 
humous benefactions, he was a generous patron to them 
during life. He first laid the plan of a dispensatory, 
where the poor might be supplied with medicines at 
prime cost ; he presented the apothecary's company 
with their botanical garden at Chelsea, in the centre of 
which stands his statue by Rysbrack ; he promoted the 
.establishment of a foundling hospital, and communi- 
cated the best instructions for the nutrition of the chil- 
dren. 

These are some of his good deeds, which will speak 
his praise when the marble monument shall moulder 
into dust, and the statue no longer bear the similitude of 
a man. Nor was this all ; his library and cabinet, which 
he had been at so much pains to form and collect, he 
bequeathed to the public, on condition that the sum of 
20,0001. should be paid his family. Large as this sum 
may appear, it was not half the value of the deposit, and 
scarcely more than the intrinsic value of the precious 
metals, stones, and ores, of which the fciuseum alone 
consisted. This noble collection of curiosities, added to 
his library of 50,000 volumes, laid the foundation of the 
British museum ; and parliament, with a liberality 

which 



GENERAL WOLFE. 341 

which reflects the highest honour on the nation, by sub- 
sequent purchases, gifts, and bequests, has been enabled 
to complete the establishment of an institution, whose 
utility will remain to latest times, and ibrm one of the 
proudest monuments to British taste and science. 



MAJOR - GENERAL JAMES WOLFE. 

Born 1726— Killed 1759. 
From 12th George I. to 32d George IT. 

THE energy of a sovereign, or the virtue of a'mi- 
nister, is easily communicated to a whole nation. 
Like the electric shock, it is felt to the extremity of the 
. ie. Each person in contact starts from the torpor 
of inactivity, and is inspired with resolution to emulate 
the qualities which he sees honoured and -admired. 
When talents and virtues are sure of promotion, com- 
petitors for the prize will never be wanting. Encourage- 
ment kindles the flame of genius, and the ardour of mi- 
litary enterprize. The immortal and revered William 
Pitt, whose eloquence flashed indignation on the cor- 
rupt and degenerate, and whose plaudits were ever paid 
to virtue, whose capacious mind embraced every object, 
and whose spirit proved the shield of his country and 
the terror of her foes, by his vigorous measures waked 
a race of heroes into being, and fostered them with pa- 
ternal care. He sought for merit wherever to be found ; 
he discovered it sometimes under the cloud of neglect, 
and sometimes in the shade of obscurity. He called it 
into action for the honour and service of the public, and 
reaped a harvest of glory from its success. Among; 
others whom this penetrating and sagacious statesman 
armed with the thunders of Britain, was the illustrious 
subject of the subsequent brief memorial. Sorry we ara 
that the span of life allowed him was toe short to fur- 

dish 



342 GENERAL WOLFE. 

nish more numerous incidents ; but all its passages are 
replete with glory. 

James Wolfe was the son of a military officer of rank, 
who had gathered laurels under the duke of Marlbo- 
rough. He was born at Westerham, in Kent ; but, not- 
withstanding the brilliant part which he played on the 
theatre of life, not a circumstance is preserved that can 
afford the least insight into the habits of his early years. 
With pleasiire should we have traced the future hero in 
the pastimes of the boy ; and marked the dawnings of 
superior intellect in the rude essays of untutored fancy. 

That Wolfe received a military education, and was 
destined for the profession of arms, almost from his 
infancy, can admit of no dispute. Honourable mention 
is made of his conduct and bravery at the battle of La 
Feldt, which was fought when he was only in the twen- 
tieth year of his age. His royal highness the duke of 
Cumberland recognised his promising talents, and re- 
warded them by promotion ; but the gradations of his 
rise are not ascertained. We only lSarn, that during 
the whole war he went on without interruption, advanc- 
ing his military character, and carrying off laurels from 
every contest. 

Even when he might have reposed in the lap of peace, 
he disdained ignoble ease, and cultivated the arts of war. 
He had the honour of introducing, by his example and 
perseverance, rather than by the exercise of severity, 
such a perfect discipline into his own corps, that as long 
as the plains of Minden are remembered, so long will 
Kingsley^s be mentioned with applause. Of that regi- 
ment he continued lieutenant-colonel till new hostilities 
broke forth. He was endeared to his men no less by 
his affectionate concern for their welfare, than by his 
personal courage, which had never received the slightest 
imputation of dishonour. They obeyed his commands 
item. a higher principle than duty : and little does that 

officer 



GENERAL WOLFE. 343 

officer consult his glory, or his interest, who trusts to the 
influence of authority alone. The man may be ruled 
by force, but the mind can only be gained by respect 
and love. 

In 1756, war was- formally declared against France. 
Its commencement was an uninterrupted series of dis- 
graces and disappointments, till Mr. Pitt was called to 
the helm of state. He immediately began his virtuous 
career by bringing forward men of the most enterpris- 
ing and active genius, and the tide of success was soon 
turned by their talents. Wolfe, whose youthful ex- 
ploits had not been forgotten, and could not be over- 
looked by a statesman like Pitt, was raised to the rank 
cf brigadier-general, and put under the command of 
general Amherst. They were sent against Louisbourg; 
and Wolfe was employed to cover the debarkation of 
the troops ; which he effected, amidst a storm of fire 
from the enemies' batteries, and an impetuous surf, 
which dashed some of the boats to pieces. Calm and 
collected, he displayed an energy equal to the occasion : 
and the conquest of the place was, in a great measure, 
ascribed to his judgment and his fortitude. 

Scarcely had he returned from this expedition, when 
the honourable share which he had borne in it pointed 
him out as worthy of a higher command.. He was raised 
to the rank of major-general, and sent to reduce Quebec. 
The generals who served under him were all young 
men, whom a less sagacious minister than Pitt would 
have hesitated to trust ; but he wisely measured abili- 
ties by another standard than years. Age may inspire 
prudence, but it is apt to cool enthusiasm, The vete- 
ran general is more solicitous to prevent disgrace, than 
to hazard enterprize. Wolfe and his associates, on the 
other hand, saw glory before them, and they overcame 
almost insurmountable impediments to pay her the ho- 
mage of their respects, 

P4 Here 



344 GENERAL WOLFE. 

Here the abilities and courage of Wolfe shone forth 
in the fullest lustre. Undaunted by difficulties which 
would have cooled the ardour of an ordinary man, dis- 
regarding the strength of situation and superiority of 
numbers, and even refusing nature the respite which she 
solicited, as he was suffering under a fever and a flux, 
he persevered with unwearied judgment and attention to 
open the way to victory. His military council desponded 
at the contemplation of their prospects, and the general 
himself would have been justified in yielding to the pres- 
sure of unfortunate circumstances ; but he, singly and 
alone in opinion, projected the plan which was to anni- 
hilate the French power in America. He did more : 
he executed it with a success on which the most san- 
guine could scarcely have presumed. Having gained 
the heights of Abraham, on which side the city of 
Quebec was most exposed, he hastened to give the enemy 
battle, who advanced to the charge with much superior 
numbers, and in good order. The gallant Wolfe sta- 
tioned himself in the front of the line, in the hottest point 
of action. He was early wounded in the wrist, but nei- 
ther pain nor danger could prevail on him to desert the 
post of glory. He wrapped a handkerchief round the 
wound, and continued to give his orders without emo- 
tion. Advancing at the head of his grenadiers, with 
bayonets fixed, a ball pierced him through the breast ; 
and he fell at the moment when the enemy began to 
give way, and the British arms became triumphant. He 
was instantly carried to a small distance in the rear : 
the tide of life was ebbing fast, when he was roused in 
the agonies of death by the cry, " They run ! they run !"■ 
Catching the sound, he eagerly asked, u Who run i ,p 
He had the satisfaction to hear it was the French. In 
a faultering voice he exclaimed ; " Then, I thank God, 
I die content :''' and with these words expired. 

uch was the lamented end of general Wolfe, one -of 

the 



GENERAL WOLFE. 345 

the most enterprizing and accomplished officers which 
this nation ever produced. He lived to be the conque- 
ror of Canada, for the event of that day sealed its fate; 
but he died too early for his country: and the joy cf 
conquest was embittered by a reflection, on the dearness 
of its purchase. A mixture of every passion, that can 
agitatethe generous heart, attended thisnational triumph. 
Mr. Pitt, in the house of commons, pronounced the eu- 
logy of the deceased in such strains of affecting elo- 
quence, as drew tears from every eye. The minister 
was absorbed in the better feelings of the man, and he 
wept at the immortality which he had given. 

When the body of General Wolfe was brought to 
Portsmouth, the scene was impressively solemn. Mi- 
nute guns were fired from the men-of-war at Spithead, 
from the time the corpse was taken from the ship to its 
slow landing at the Point. Bodies of military marched 
down to receive it. It was put into -a herse, and pro* 
ceeded in funeral pomp through the garrison under 
arms. During this awful procession, the colours on the 
fort were struck half flag-staff; the bells were muffled, 
and toiled in solemn concert with the dead march ; mi* 
nute guns were fired from the platform, and troops, 
with armsreversed, preceded and followed the herse. The 
body was afterwards privately deposited in the family 
vault at Greenwich church; and a superb national mo- 
nument was erected to his memory in Westminster-ab- 
bey, at the expence of four thousand guineas. These 
were some of the unavailing honours paid to the con- 
queror of Canada, still a faithful appendage to Great 
Britain. His name still continues to inspire martial en- 
thusiasm in the youthful bosom, and to lure the aspiring 
to the field of glory. But while his public character 
serves to excite emulation, his private also is entitled to 
our warm esteem. 

He seems to have been formed by nature for military 
P 5 greatness: 



340 LORD ANSON. 

greatness : his constitutional courage was not only uni- 
form arid daring, but he possessed that higher species 
of courage, that strength, steadiness, and activity of • 
mind, which no difficulties could vanquish, nti dangers 
deter from the pursuit of his own and his country's glory. 

With a vivacity of disposition, almost bordering on 
impetuosity, he was subject to no unguarded sallies of 
passion; and, with a generous independence of mind, he 
was free from pride. His bounty almost bordered on 
profusion, and he despised the little arts of gain. It was. 
his highest gratification to. assist the deserving soldier ; 
and even the inferior officer in distress has frequently 
experienced his liberality.. In his attachments he was 
constant and discriminating ; gentle,, kind, and concili- 
ating, in his manners. 

It was the peculiar good fortune of general Wolfe, 
not only to enjoy a large share of the friendship, but al- 
most the nniversal good-will, of mankind. He was one 
of those, who appears to have vanquished envy by the. 
indisputable superiority of professional talents, and the 
acknowledged excellence of his heart. This is the most 
exalted compliment that can be paid to man ; for that cha- 
racter must be sublime indeed, which Envy and Malice 
will not venture to attack ! 



■ Diram qui contudit hydram, 



Comperit invidiam supremo fine doniari. 



Hgh 



GEORGE, LORD ANSON. 

Bom 1697— Died 1762. 
From St/i William III. to 2d George II L 

A FATALITY attends the best concerted plans of 
some able men, while a mediocrity of talents, 
without energy, and almost without effort, not unfre- 
quently carries away the prize. The prudent must of- 
ten 



LORD ANSON. 347 

ten combat combined difficulties, which no foresight 
can avoid ; while the rash and unreflecting escape the 
dangers which they seem to provoke. But patient for- 
titude, united to skill and enterprise, will generally 
• prevail at last ; and fortune, weary of buffet ting- the- 
brave, will leave them near the haven*. 

Whoever has read the history of Anson's voyage 
round the world, will be able to apply some of those, 
reflections to the particular case of this eminent officer^ 
who, amidst the most forlorn prospects, did not despond, 
and whose perseverance and courage were ultimately 
crowned with proportionate reward. 

George Anson was the younger son of a very re- 
spectable family in Staffordshire, and was born at Shuck- 
borough, in that county. The bias of , his inclination.. 
led h»m to the naval profession, and his father gave him ■ 
an education suitable to hm -views- It was his greatest 
delight to read the. narrations -of voyages, and the illus- 
trious actions of' admirals, from his earliest years; and 
thus his genius could not be mistaken, and fortunately, 
ft was not thwarted.- 

By the voluntary studies and predominant inclination 
of children their propensities and genius may be best 
discovered. Abilities will always perform the-task pre- 
scribed, whether it be suitable to the taste or not ; but 
the employment :of the vacant hour should be watched 
as a sort of the key to the mind ; and parents and tu- 
tors, with a - moderate "degree of pains, will be enabled, 
to unlock: the secret of native -predilections. . 

Of the exploits of Anson, while in the lower rai 
of naval service,, we know nothing. Wher2 he was 
stationed, or under whom he served, has -not been trans- 
mitted to us. That he went through the subordinate 
stations in the royal navy with credit, and had rendered 
himself, by his diligenoe, perfectly master of his profes- 
sion, may be- inferred from this, that in the twenty-fifth, 

P 6 ' year 



348 LORD ANSON. 

year of his age he was promoted to the command of 
the Weasel sloop, and soon after obtained the Scarbo- 
rough man-of-war, in which ship he displayed great in- 
trepidity and judgment. A long interval of silence, as 
to his subseqaent destinies, succeeds : a military officer 
has always the best chance of being noticed when en- 
gaged in his proper element, a war. 

About the close of the year 1731, a rupture with 
8pain appearing inevitable, government rightly consi- 
dered that the most effectual step to distress, the enemy 
was to attack them in their American settlements, and 
thus cut off their supplies of money, the principle sinew 
of war. 

. This plan, so politic, and apparently so very ,praclU 
cable, suffered various shameful and unaccountable* 
delays, before it was carried into execution; and, at 
last, it was attempted on such a contracted scale, and 
with such an inadequate force, that the marine mi- 
nisters of that period can in no wise be acquitted, both 
of negligence and treachery ; notwithstanding which, they 
were never called to any account for their unpardonable 
mismanagement. George Anson, esq. then captain of 
the Centurion, was appointed commodore of a squadron 
of five ships, destined for the South Seas. The spirit 
and the diligence of the commander deserved more 
prompt and efficacious measures, on the part of govern- 
ment, for the equipment of his fleet ; but ten months 
elapsed from his appointment oefore he was ready to 
put to sea, and at last he had the mortification to find, 
that the small land force with which he was entrusted 
was fitter for an hospital or a garrison than to be em- 
ployed in a distant and dangerous expedition, where the 
vigour of health, added to the experience of arms, was 
essentially requisite. Nor was this the only disadvan- 
tage which attended the outset. By the most criminal 
delays, the enemy were fully apprized of the nature and 

object 



LORD Axsoisr. 34Q 

. :t of tins expedition ; and the season of the year was, 
oi'all others, the most unpropitiotis for a navigation so 
little known, and so replete with dangers. 

commodore, however, though he might be cha- 
grined, was not dispirited. He set sale on the 18th of 
September,^ 17^0, in his flag-ship, the Centurion of sixty- 
guns, with the Severn and Gloucester of fifty guns each, 
the Pearl of forty guns, the Wager storeship, and the 
Tryal sloop ; and arrived in the latitude of Cape Horn 
about the vernal equinox, when the weather in that 
dreary climate is dreadfully tempestuous. His career 
was now obstructed by accumulating difficulties, but his 
resolution was undaunted. With extreme hazard he 
doubled; that stormy cape in company with the Glou- 
cester and the sloop. The Severn and Pearl, after va* 
rious attempts, were under the absolute necessity of put- 
ting back, and the Wager was lost; which gave rise to 
Byron's very interesting narrative, a proper appendage 
to the commodore's voyage. The scurvy also began to 
make excessive ravages among the ships that were left f 
but, having refreshed his men and repaired his damages 
at the fertile but desolate island of Juan Fernandez, 
with this inconsiderable force he kept the whole coast 
of Mexico and Peru in continual alarm for eight months, 
made some considerable prizes, and with great conduct 
and resolution took possession of the town of Paita; 
which he, however, afterwards sacked and burned. The 
humane conduct of Anson to his prisoners made an in- 
delible impressiQn on the minds of the Spaniards, and 
he became at once the object of their terror for burn- 
ing Paita, and or respect for his generous treatment of 
his prisoners. 

At length, having lost all his other ships, with the 
Centurion alone he traversed the immense Pacific Ocean ; 
and in the course of this long navigation his crew was so 
much farther reduced, that with the utmost difficulty 

he 



350 LORD ANSON. 

he reached the isle of Tinian, which had been deserted 
by the Spaniards a little before, and is described in the 
history of this voyage as a terrestrial elysium. Amidst 
the happy sequestered groves of this delightful spot, 
he refreshed his crew, and fitted them for fresh en- 
terprizes. But an accident happened here, wnich had 
nearly put an end to his interesting voyage. The an- 
chorage being but indifferent on the coast, and a furious 
storm arising, the Centurion, with only a few hands on 
board, was driven out to sea, and it was nineteen days 
before the harassed crew could regain their station. 
Their companions on shore, indeed, had given them up 
for lost; and this, certainly, may be considered as one 
of the most miraculous escapes, in an expedition which 
was pregnant with disasters as well as wonderful turns 
©f good fortune. 

About the middle of October, 174-2, the commodore 
again put to sea, and after a variety of adventures ar- 
rived at Macao in China, where he resisted the exactions 
of that mercenary people, with a spirit that did honour 
to his sovereign and the British flag. 

Here the Centurion being completely refitted, Anson,., 
concealing his design, steered back as far as the Phillip*, 
pine islands, with a view of intercepting the annxal* 
Acapulco ships, and herein fortune at last, was propitious 
to his views. 

After encountering a series of disasters, in a voyage ■•- 
cf nearly three years' duration, relieved only by gleams- 
of partial success, on the 20th of June, 174-3, one of the 
wished-for ships was descried; and, aftera vigorous con- 
test, in which British spirit and conduct prevailed over 
numbers and strength, the prize was carried, and consi- 
derably upwards of half a million sterling was -the re- 
ward of victory. With this capital prize he proceeded >. 
to Canton, where having put the treasure en board his 
own ship, he disposed of the Spaniards .and their gal-, 
kon, and directed his course to England. 

m 



LORD ANSON. 351 

No occurrence particularly memorable attended his 
voyage, till he entered the Channel ; but here he had 
another proof of that superintendence which had rescued 
him from so many antecedent perils : a French fleet was 
cruizing in this latitude, and he passsed through the 
midst of it, unnoticed, in a fog. In short, during his 
circumnavigation of the globe, which took up the space 
of three years and nine months, he repeatedly confirmed 
by his own experience and conduct, the policy of Teu- 
cer's maxim, " Nil desperandum ;" which, with pecu- 
liar propriety, he afterwards assumed as. his motto. 

The treasures taken by the Centurion were conveyed 
in a number of waggons, decorated with Spanish flags, 
through the streets of London to the Tower, amidst the 
loudest acclamations of the populace ; and the commo- 
dore was laden with honours and congratulation. 

After this, Anson rapidly rose to the highest ranks in 
his profession, was returned to parliament, and made 
one of the lords of the admiralty. In 174«7> being ap- 
pointed to the command of a squadron, he had the good 
fortune to fall in with a French fleet off Cape Finisterre ; 
and, notwithstanding a spirited resistance on the part of 
the enemy, took six men of war, and four of the India- 
men which they were convoying. The elegant compli- 
ment which M. de la Jonquiere, the French admiral, 
paid the victor, on presenting his sword, deserves to be 
remembered. Pointing to two of his ships, whose names 
gave all its beauty and force to the expression, he said, 
" Monsieur, vous avez vaincu & Invincible , et La Gloire 
vous suit." Sir, you have vanquished the Invincible, 
and Glory follows you. 

It has long been a sage policy, to confer distinguished 
iionour on those naval heroes who have successfully sup- 
ported the glory of the British flag. To a man of ho- 
nour, who devotes his life to maritime or military pur- 
suits, the ambition of pecuniary gratification is but a 

secondary 



352 LORD ANSOKV 

secondary object ; he toils for distinction, and it should 
be paid him with no niggardly hand. This gallant of- 
ficer, as a reward of his merit, received a peerage, by the 
title of lord Anson, baron of Soberton in Hants ; and 
the same year succeeded to the high rank of vice admiral 
of England, He had, likewise, the honour to be select- 
ed to convoy his majesty, George II. to and from the 
continent on several occasions ; and, when our present 
excellent queen was chosen by his successor to grace his 
throne, lord Anson was appointed to conduct her ma- 
jesty to England. 

In 1751, his lordship had been made first lord of the 
admiralty, a post which he was admirably qualified to 
fill, being an excellent judge of merit, and" which he held, 
with little intermission, to the time of his death. His 
services, however, by sea, were not discontinued when 
his country required his bravery and skill. In 1758, he 
sailed from Spithead with a formidable fleet, having 
under his command the gallant Sir Edward Hawke, and 
materially contributed to facilitate the descents made at 
St. Maloe's, and other places on the enemy's coast. At 
last he was appointed admiral and commander in chief 
of his majesty's fleets; and his professional honours 
could rise no higher. 

The fatigues incident to a seafaring life had gradu- 
ally sapped his lordship's constitution ; and, for many 
months before his death, he had been in a very languish- 
ing state of health. At last, he found business insup- 
portable, and company too fatiguing to his spirits, and 
retired to his seat at Moor-park, in Hertfordshire, where 
he suddenly died, without any. actual confinement to his 
room or his bed. His lordship had married the honour- 
able Miss York, eldest daughter of the earl of Hard- 
wicke, lord high chancellor of Great Britain, but left no 
children ; and thus the title became extinct. 

As an officer, lord Anson was distinguished for in- 
flexible 



LORD ANSOST. 353 

flexible perseverance, and a command of temper which 
rendered him intrepid in the midst of danger, and sedate 
in every change of fortune. In private lifer, he was ho- 
nest and unsuspecting, and thus became the dupe of 
gamblers and sharpers. An unfortunate attachment to 
gaming, the tricks of which he did not understand, and 
had too much integrity to practise, exposed him to losses 
and misfortunes which greatly diminished his dear- 
earned wealth, and made him the ridicule of his more 
knowing associates. It was often remarked of him, 
" that he had been round the world, but never in it." 
He was too sincere to be fashionably polished, too inge- 
nuous to profess what- he did not feel : the artful preyed 
on his simplicity, and the conqueror of his enemies was 
frequently vanquished by his pretended friends. 

When the baneful infatuation of play gains an ascen- 
dancy over the mind of a good man, he is in the direct 
road to ruin ; when it seizes the unprincipled, he soon 
becomes a finished villain. Harsh as the term may 
seem, that man is the worst of villains, who, by his su- 
perior skill in an art where honour and virtue would 
scorn proficiency, practises on the unsuspecting, involves 
the helpless and innocent in distress, and braves the 
detection of the honest, by the plunder which he has 
acquired. 

There are two vices, which, when they have once laid 
full hold upon the heart, seem not only to be incurable,. 
but to gain strength with years. Need we name the 
love of gaming, and the love of wine ; the epitome of 
all ills, the aggregate of infamy and ruin ? 

May these serious reflections have the effect which the 
writer intends, on the youthful and uncorrupted breast ! 
If only one is warned by them to avoid these two grand 
sinks of fortune and of fame, of health and peace, this 
•veil-meant page will not have been penned in vain. 

PHILIP 



( 354 ) 
PHILIP YORK, 

EARL OF HARDWICKE, LORD CHANCELLOR OF 
ENGLAND. 

Born 1691— Died 1764. 
From 2d William III. to 4M George III. 

THAT the law, above all other professions, opens a 
scene for the display of superior abilities, has been 
remarked on a former occasion. That its practice, how- 
ever, sometimes cramps the energies of independence, 
and leads the ambitious to sacrifice the love of virtue to 
the love of gain, is also to be lamented, but cannot be 
denied. The study of the legal science naturally teaches 
prudence and reflection : it forbids the mind to pursue 
the blandishments of fancy, and fixes it in the empire of 
reason. Reason recommends what is expedient, rather 
than right ; and its decisions are commonly proper, 
though the motives which influence them may not al- 
ways be pure. These observations, however, are not to 
be taken in their utmost latitude of interpretation ; as 
they have no particular application to the distinguished 
subject of the following memoirs. 

Philip York was born in London, of a respectable, 
rather than an opulent family ; but, whatever might be 
the rank or situation of his ancestors, his own merit cer- 
tainly paved the way to what he afterwards became. 
This is the highest praise that can be paid to his memo- 
ry, that he rose to distinction by his talents alone ; and 
thus reflected honour on the patronage which he ac- 
quired, and the titles which he bore, and transmitted to 
his posterity. 

• His education must have been well conducted ; but 
he unquestionably owed more to genius and application ; 
without which, opportunities of improvement are of 

little 



EARL OF HARDWICKE. 355 

little avail. Being designed for an attorney, at a proper 
age lie was articled to a gentleman eminent in that 
branch of the profession, and served his clerkship with 
credit : but he felt that he was not in his element, when 
confined to the drudgery of an office ; and no sooner was 
he his own master, than he entered himself of the society 
of Lincoln's-inn. 

In due time he was called to the bar ; and, while a 
very young man, acquired such high reputation as a 
pleader, that, in 17^0, he was raised to the office of so- 
licitor-general. In three years more, he became attor- 
ney-general ; and, in this capacity, which frequently 
admits and requires the utmost extent of legal know- 
ledge, he displayed an astonishing eloquence, a profound . 
and intimate acquaintance with English jurisprudence, 
and was universally allowed to be the first lawyer of his 
day. 

Thus gifted, and placed on a vantage ground, where 
full scope was given to his powers, and their exercise 
could not be unnoticed, it would surely have been extra- 
ordinary had his elevation been less rapid than it was. 
When no more than forty-two years of age, he was con- 
stituted chief justice of the court of king's-bench ; and 
four years after, he attained the highest rank that the 
law c y an confer on her most distinguished votaries, by 
being raised to the supreme seat of equity. 

For the high and dignified office of lord chancellor, 
it was universally allowed at the time, that the kingdom 
could not furnish a more proper person. His elevation, 
therefore, was free from envy ; it was even grateful to 
his brethren at the bar. The title of baron Hardwicke 
was conferred on him at the same time, and the nation 
re-echoed the approbation of their sovereign in this 
choice of the keeper of his conscience. 

To detail the various instances of assiduity, and the 
very impartial administration of justice, conspicuous in. 

thi$ 



350 KARL OP HARDWICKE. 

this great lawyer, for the long period of twenty years, 
during which he held the seals, would be incompatible 
with our plan. The equality of his temper, the strength 
of his judgment, and his intuitive sagacity, were alike 
confessed and admired. 

When the noble but infatuated partizans of rebellion 
in Scotland were brought to trial, Hardwicke was ap- 
pointed lord high steward of England. This furnished 
him with a fresh opportunity of displaying his consum- 
mate powers of oratory ; and the speech which he deli- 
vered when passing sentence on the rebel lords, is de- 
servedly ranked among the finest specimens of elo- 
quence that modern times have produced. 

In 1754, the chancellor was raised to the dignity of 
earl of Hardwicke ; but two years after, when the illus- 
trious William Pitt, afterwards earl of Chatham, was 
called to the helm, his lordship was obliged to resign- 
That great statesman, however he might respect lord 
Hardwicke's legal abilties, considered him as a weak 
politician; and besides, he was aware of his influence in 
the cabinet, which, in numerous instances, had rather 
been exerted to aggrandize his family, or particular 
friends, than directed to the public welfare. It war 
Hardwicke's object to strengthen his own interest, and 
to advance the fortunes of his connections. He seems to 
.have adopted a common but mistaken policy, of recom- 
mending weak and ill qualified persons, to fill important 
places, that they might be more subservient to his con- 
troul. This stratagem appears serviceable for a moment, 
but proves delusive in the end. A man of talents will 
feel the tie of honour and of gratitude, with a force 
which ignoble and uncultivated minds can never know* 
Abilities reflect back the credit of patronage ; Hut igno- 
rance and incapacity are the shame of their supporters. 

After his resignation, the earl of Hardwicke retired 

from public life, but he did not long enjoy the cahn of 

' ease. 



EABL OF HARDWICKE. 357 

ease. In 1764, he was called to pay the debt of nature; 
and, what must have shed consolation on his departing 
hours, he was able to declare on his death bed, " that 
he had never wronged any man to increase his fortune, 
nor acquired a single acre of land which he could not, 
in his last moments, reflect upon with tranquillity." To 
feel the consciousness of integrity, when sublunary joys 
are failing, is the sweetest satisfaction; and to ensure it* 
should be the first study of human life. 

That lord Hardwicke was both an able and an up- 
right judge, admits of no dispute. Though many ap- 
peals were brought to the bar of the house of lords from 
his decrees, not one of them was reversed. That he was 
a most eloquent speaker, and a good moral man, his 
"worst enemies are ready to confess. The great stain 
on his private character was, a mercenary and craving 
disposition. To provide for a family which he had 
raised to the most honourable distinction, was not only 
fair, but praise-worthy; yet to direct every favour, 
which his interest could command, into one channel, 
though it may be palliated, cannot be excused. It is 
said, his royal master, who had been abundantly gene- 
rous and indulgent to him, at last gave him a severe 
check, when he found that his reiterated applications 
had on6 object alone in view. A man of elevated rank, 
and extensive influence, should be the patron of unpro- 
tected worth, though unconnected by natural ties; nor 
suffer either partiality or prejudice to -bias his judgment 
and intercept his bounty. 

As a politician, lord Hardwicke was unfortunate in 
fiis prepossessions, and very confined in his principles. 
He opposed the militia bill on the futile grounds of 
danger in arming the people ; and even when it had 
passed into a law, he is said to have exerted himself, 
wherever he had influence, to prevent its effect. He 
also had a principal share in promoting the existing 
7 marriage 



358 SIK JOHN BERNARD. 

marriage a<£l: which, though not wholly destitute of 
utility, is supposed to militate against those leading 
principles which have ever been the guide of free com- 
munities. To encourage matrimony is to encourage 
virtue, and consequently adds to the stability of govern- 
ments ; to clog it with restraints which have a tendency 
to violate the strongest affections of the heart, may 
soothe the pride of unimpassioned avarice, but can nei- 
ther increase domestic happiness nor public security. 
In a word, lord Hardwicke was rather a great lawyer, 
than a great man: had he shunned the region of poli- 
tics, his fame would have raised him above almost every 
person of his age ; but his views were too limited for a 
statesman, and almost every measure in which he en- 
gaged, rendered him unpopular, or evinced his narrow 
prejudices. Yet let it not be supposed that we wish to 
detract: from his real merits. Universal excellence is 
not a common attribute of man. The illustrious qua- 
lities which he possessed and practised for many years, 
at the bar and on the bench, justify his claim to the gra- 
titude of Englishmen as a shining ornament of his coun- 
try. - 



SIR JOHN BARNARD, Knt. 

Born 1685— Died 1766. 
From 1st James II to 5th George 1IT. 

UTILITY is not confined to particular pursuits, 
nor are worth and merit the peculiar growth of 
any soil. On a plebeian base many a pillar of our country 
has been reared, while many have been found prouder 
to erect trophies of their own, than to boast the reflected 
honours of ancestry. In every station, laurels may be 
earned, and a solid reputation may be acquired. In 
the senate, at the bar, in the pulpit or the schools, in 

the 



SIR JOHN BARNARD - 33() 

the field or on the ocean, in mercantile engagments or 
mechanical pursuits, in the peaceful shade of philo- 
sophic retirement, nay, even in the lowest occupations 
of agriculture and the arts, a man may be honourably 
and usefully employed, and discharge his duty to his 
conscience and his country. 

To xronfme the praise of merit to a particular rank 
or profession, is the property of a narrow and an illiberal 
mind. Superior worth sometimes shines forth at once 
with every advantage that fortune can bestow; while 
at other times it surmounts the impediments of situation 
by its native strength ; — it diffused a glory round the 
head of Barnard. 

This upright and patriotic citizen was born at Read- 
ing, in Berkshire. His parents were among the re- 
spectable society of quakers, and he was educated at 
one of their seminaries ; but it is said, he derived very 
little benefit from early instruction, in classical and po- 
lite literature j this deficiency, however, his native good 
sense, and love of knowledge, induced him to supply by 
such auxiliaries as fell afterwards within his reach. 
Translations gave him an intimate acquaintance with 
the substance of ancient learning; and, though no lin- 
guist, he became extremely well informed in books. 

Inquisitive and penetrating, he sought for truth un- 
biassed by early prejudices; and, quitting the society of 
quakers when very young, received the rite of bap- 
tism from the hands of Compton, bishop of London, 
in Fulham chapel. 

His father carried on the business of a wine merchant ; 
and by him he was brought up to the same trade, in 
which he afterwards successfully engaged on his own ac- 
count in the city of London. 

His abilities, his general knowledge, and the integrity 
of his conduct, soon rendered him conspicuous among 
his fellow-citizens; and such was the opinion they en- 
tertained 



$60 SIR JOHN BARNARD. X 

tertained of him, he was elected one of their representa- 
tives in 1722. In this honourable situation he remained 
during seven successive parliaments ; and, amidst all the 
revolutions that tdok place both in city and public po- 
litics, was so firmlv established in the esteem of his con- 
stituents, that his name always appeared at the head of 
the list in every new election; and, with whatever op* 
position others had to contend, none of any consequence 
was ever attempted against this favourite member. In- 
deed, the zeal, the diligence, and the capacity which he 
displayed in the discharge of this important trust, were 
so eminent, as to merit and receive unqualified applause ; 
and he is justly considered as one of the most spirited, 
able, and independent members ever delegated to the 
house of commons by the metropolis of the British em- 
pire. 

The senate was the theatre on which he particularly 
shone, and his conduct here laid the basis_of his fame. 
His judgment might be erroneous, but his vote was 
never venal. If he was generally in opposition to ad- 
ministration, it was not from the love of dissent, or from 
an interested view of supplanting them in office, but 
from the purest conviction, that their proceedings mili- 
tated against the public welfare, or the individual inte- 
rests of that great commercial city which he repre- 
sented. 

When a bill was brought into parliament, in 1725, 
€i for regulating Elections within the City of London, 
and for preserving the Peace, good Order, and Govern- 
ment of the said City •" Barnard strenuously opposed 
it, as an infringement of the city's rights, and contrary 
to its charter; particularly in depriving numbers of 
their elective franchise, which they had enjoyed from 
time immemorial. 

The citizens were heard by council at the bar of the 
house; crowds, who thought themselves injured or af- 

fetfed 



SIR JOHN BARNARD. 36) 

fecled by the clauses of this bill, tumultuously assrmbled 
everyday at Westminster; the complaints were loud 
and menacing, and government thought it necessary 
to double the guards. After much opposition, how- 
ever, the bill passed, with various modifications ; and 
Sir John Barnard received thanks from the court of 
common council, for the active part which he had taken 
in asserting the liberties of his fellow citizens. 

Not long after, this virtuous representative was chosen 
alderman^ of Dowgate ward, and omitted no oppor- 
tunity in hk double capacity of magistrate and senator 
to promote the honour and welfare of the metropolis, 
and, indeed, of the British empire. He prepared a 
bill, in 1729, for the better encouragement and regu- 
lation of sailors in the merchant-service; which he car- 
ried through the house with great credit: and the same 
sessions gave a signal proof of his humane and benevo- 
lent disposition, in exerting himself to redress the scan- 
dalous enormities that had been committed in the Meet 
and other prisons. The warden In that receptacle of 
unfortunate debtors had dared to put several persons 
in irons ; and by his gross venality had suffered others to 
escape. 

•The indignation of our worthy citizen was roused to 
the highest pitch; he made a pathetic representation to 
the house of the various abuses which he had detected 
in that prison, and was not only instrumental in bring- 
ing the iniquitous warden and his agents to justice, but 
also in procuring an act of insolvency, and in framing 
such regulations as would prevent arbitrary and illegal 
practices by the keepers of that prison in future. 

When Sir Robert Walpole, in the plenitude of minis- 
terial influence, brought in his famous excise scheme m 
1733, the attention of every member, who wished well 
to the liberties of the subject, was called to a measure, 
which, however advantageous in a financial point of 
. Q view, 



3^)2 SIR JOHN BARNARD. 

view, certainly appeared fraught with die most dange- 
rous consequences to the genuine principles of our con- 
stitution. Sir John Barnard took a leading part in the 
spirited debate which was maintained on this bill; he 
contended that the proposed scheme would deprive a 
number of persons of their ancient birthright, the trial 
by jury, the last unimpaired privilege of liberty that re- 
mained to Englishmen; that thoughts majesty should 
never make a bad use of the power intended to be given 
him, his successors might; and that a slave, who has 
the good fortune to meet with a humane master, is ne- 
vertheless a slave. " Our liberties are too valuable, " 
added he, " were purchased at too dear a price, to be 
sported with, or wantonly given up to the best of kings. 
I hope we have the same regard for them that our an- 
cestors had, and if so, we shall certainly use all peaceable 
means to preserve them ; and, if such should prove in- 
effectual, I trust there is no Englishman but would use 
those methods his ancestors had done, in transmitting 
his liberties to his posterity in the same glorious condi- 
tion he found them, and not sacrifice the constitution to 
the poor pretence of suppressing a few frauds in the col- 
lection of the public revenue." 

While this business was in agitation, the avenues to 
the house of commons were filled with multitudes of 
people, the ministerial members were grossly insulted, 
and Sir Robert Walpole himself, in a paroxysm of pas- 
sion, to which, however, he was little subject, having 
applied the term sturdy beggars to the clamorous peti- 
tioners at the door, met with a very severe retort from 
Sir John Barnard, and was only saved from the fury of 
the mob, by the resolution of a Mr. Cunningham, who 
protected him with a drawn sword. 

So obnoxious was this scheme to the great body of 
the people, and so jealous were they now become of any 
encroachment on their liberties, that ministers thought 

proper 



SIR JOHN BARNARD. 363 

proper to abandon it at that time; on which event pub- 
lic rejoicings took place, as if some signal victory had 
been gained over a foreign enemy. 

Sir John Barnard had acquired such reputation as a 
public speaker, and such influence from the tried inte- 
grity and independence of his character, that he was al- 
ways heard with respect, and his plans for the public 
good were not unfrequently adopted. Though he gain- 
ed the greatest share of his popularity in opposing some 
favourite plans of the minister, he was as ready to sup- 
port him, whenever his conscience and a sense of duty 
would permit. Attached to no party, but a zealous 
friend to constitutional liberty and the interests of his 
country, his vote was always the freewill offering of a 
virtuous mind ; and the part which he* took in public 
affairs, was stained with no bias to sinister views of pri- 
vate interest. He boldly contended for settling such 
an annual income on Frederic, prince of Wales, as would 
render him independent of a minister ; and declared his 
opinion, that the heir-apparent, or any other prince of 
the royal family, ought to have such a certain revenue, 
as was consistent with his own dignity and that of the 
nation. He was likewise very instrumental in lowering 
the interest of the public debt, by taking advantage of 
the facility with which money might be raised, without 
the smallest violation of public credit, as the stockholder 
was to be paid at par, or voluntarily to accept the re- 
duction of interest proposed. 

To particularize every patriotic effort of this distin- 
guished citizen, however useful his example might 'be to 
such as aspire to the honours which he received, would 
extend this article too far. In 1738, he served the office 
of lord mayor, and discharged the duties of this impor- 
tant station with the same assiduity, firmness, and im- 
partiality, which had marked his former life. As, a 
magistrate, indeed, his conduct was a perfect model for 
Q 2 imitation* 



364 LORD LYTTELTOISr. 

imitation. He was governor of several hospitals and 
other public charities ; and was ever vigilant, active, 
and disinterested in the discharge of those important 
trusts. In 17^9, he became father of the city; but, at 
length, the infirmities of age suspended his honourable 
and useful services. He requested leave to resign -his 
alderman's gown. The solemn thanks, given him by 
the city of London on this occasion, was the best testi- 
mony of his merit, and will remain a lasting eulogy on 
his character. Among other qualities becoming a ma- 
gistrate and a man, he was thanked u for his wise, vigi- 
lant, and impartial administration of justice; his un- 
wearied zeal for the honour, safety, and prosperity of 
his fellow-citizens ; his inviolable attachment to the laws 
and liberties of his country; and for the noble example 
which he had set, of a long and uninterrupted course of 
virtue, in private as well as public life." 

With this enviable character, Sir John Barnard retired 
to his country-seat at Clapham, where he expired, full 
of days and honour, in the eighty-fifth year of his age. 
As a further proof of the high sense which his fellow- 
citizens entertained of his signal services, his statue was 
erected in his lifetime, on the Royal Exchange, in his 
robes of magistracy. 



GEORGE, LORD LYTTELTON. 

Born 1 70S— Died 1773. 
From 6t/i Anne to ISlh George III. 

Wealth, power, and titles, — pageants of a day, 

UngracYt with merit, shed a feeble ray. 
Soon sinks the fame not raisM on true desert, 
And ali the praise that lives not ia the heart ; 
Soon sinks the pride from ancestry that flows: — 
. The splendid villains are but public shows : 



Awhile 



LORD LYTTELTON. 3©3 

Awhile' they blaze, and catch the simple eye, 

Then melt in air, like meteors in the sky ! 
Not thus nobility with worth conjoin'*!, 
Its lustre spreads, and leaves a track behind. 
The gifts of fortune, in a good man's power, 
Are but the needy wretch's pertain dower; 
They raise the languid, wipe affliction's tear, 
To some give fame, in Ljtteltoii endear. 

THIS illustrious and excellent man claimed descent 
from a very ancient family, which had been seat- 
ed for centuries in Worcestershire, and had produced 
several distinguished characters at different periods ; 
among others, Judge Lyttelton, who flourished in the 
reign of Henry IV. He was the eldest son of Sir Tho- 
mas Lyttelton, by a sister of lord viscount Cobharji, and. 
was born at Hagley, which he found, when he came to 
his inheritance, prepared by nature for the elysium to 
which his delicate taste converted it. 

His birth is said to have been premature, arul, in con- 
sequence, he was with difficulty reared; but gradually 
gaining a tolerable strength of constitution, he was sent 
to Eton school, where he soon attracted the notice of 
his masters by the superior manner in which his exercises 
were finished, and early discovered a taste for the beau- 
ties of poetical composition ; an almost infallible index 
of a refined and elegant mind. At that seminary he 
wrote his pastorals, and some other pieces, which would 
have given him a considerable rank in the train of the 
Muses, independently of those advantages to which he 
was born, and which set off his natural endowments in 
the most conspicuous light. 

Having removed to Christ-church, in the university 
of Oxford, he pursued his academical studies with un- 
usual avidity, and with a success correspondent to his 
application. Nor was he satisfied with the routine of ex- 
peeled duty ; his genius prompted him to court fame as 
Q 3 a writer*? 



366 LORD LYTTELTON. 

a writer, and his " Blenheim," if it did not much en- 
hance his reputation as a poet among real judges, cer- 
tainly, from the popularity of the subject and the great 
man who was the hero of it, rendered him better known, 
and the object of more general admiration. On the 
banks of Isis, too, he sketched his Persian Letters, one 
of the most original of all his works, and which, for 
purity of language, arid the knowledge of life and man- 
ners which it displays, gained him a reputation not tem- 
porary, but permanent. It' may be considered as a 
classical English production, and will always be read 
with improvement and delight. 

After a short stay at the university, he commenced 
his travels. At Paris he became acquainted with the 
British ambassador, Mr. Poyntz, who was so struck with 
the uncommon capacity of Lyttelton, that he warmly 
patronized him, and employed him in some political 
negotiations, which he dispatched in such a manner as 
confirmed the high opinion that had been formed of his 
talents and his address. 

When Lyttelton set out on his travels, he had formed 
a proper estimate of the useful purposes to which they 
might be applied, and he determined to reap all the be- 
nefit and improvement from them which an extensive 
intercourse with mankind is capable of conferring. He 
did not post through a country like a courier, nor did 
he indulge in the dissipation or frivolities of the people 
among whom he sojourned. On the contrary, he asso- 
ciated only with men of rank, in the political or literary 
world, from whom lie enlarged the native stores of his 
mind ; or, by observation and inquiry, traced the advan- 
tages and defects of public institutions, or the various 
modes of private life. In order to connect him, too, 
more strongly with the country which was still dearest 
to him, and in which he had left some valuable friends, 
he kept up a regular private correspondence, and a 

poetical, 



1 LORD LYTTELTON. 307 

poetical, in two epistles to Br. Ayscough and Mr. Pope, 
which are not unworthy to be classed even with Addi- 
son's celebrated letter from Italy. 

Under the friendly and affectionate auspices of Mr. 
Povntz, who seems to have loved him as a son, he re- 
mained for some time at Paris. At Turin, he was re- 
ceived in the most, condescending and flattering manner 
by his Sardinian majesty. In the capital towns of Italy, 
particularly at Rome, he applied himself to the study 
of the fine arts; and such was the correctness and purity 
of his taste, that he was justly esteemed an excellent 

Ige of tir u t though so young a man. 

His letters to his father, during his peregrination, 
which are still extant, evince his filial piety, and are mo- 
dels of dutiful affection. This trait of character should 
not be overlooked; it stamps the amiable bias of his 
soul. He who is deficient in duty to his parents, may 
possess great, but can never be entitled to the praise of 
good qualities. Pie is not formed to relish the most 
solid satisfaction, or to know the ecstacies of reciprocal 
endearment. He can neither be happy himself, nor 
communicate happiness to others". 

Returning from his travels, fraught with the most va- 
luable attainments, he obtained a seat for the borough 
" of Okehampton, for which he served in several parlia- 
ments, and soon entered the lists of opposition against 
Walpole. His abilities as a public speaker were very 
considerable, and he was not averse to display his ta- 
lents; no important debate arose in which he did not 
take a share. As he had espoused what was called the 
patriotic party, though patriotism certainly allows no- 
party, he was speedily introduced to the favour of Fre- 
deric, prince of Wales ; : and, in 1737> became principal 
secretary to his Royal Plighness, in which capacity he 
served him with integrity and zeal. 

IJiit though Lyttleton, was now confessedly a politi- 
co 4 cian^ 



- S6'8 LORD LYTTELTON. 

'. i.ui, the irradiations of his genius could not be obscured 
• by the dense air in which he was enveloped. Indeed, 
he had now a fresh cause of inspiration. Miss Lucy 
Fortescue, a young lady of uncommon beauty and me- 
rit, had taught, bun to feelthe tenderest pangs, of love ; 
and he breathed his attachment to her in some of the 
most delicate and elegant verses that ever poet penned to 
his mistress. The amiability of his own disposition in- 
spired him with the sincerest regard for kindred qualities ; 
and, in 1742, he was united to the objeft of his fondest 
affe&Ipn, and was happy enough to find in the wife, all 
that he had loved and admired in the mistress. No cold 
Bjestions of interest had joined them ; and their con- 
1 felicity knew no interruption till the moment it 
closed for ever. In four short years, this faultless 
:lel of domestic virtue was called to another world ; 
h\g a disconsolate husband, with an infant son and 
.■hter, the pledges of their mutual affection. The 
grief which Mr. Lyttelton felt on this occasion was equal 
to the loss which he had sustained. His beautiful mo- 
nody to the memory of his lady will eternize her name 
and his own conjugal affection. It is one of the most 
pathetic pieces in, the English language. The inscrip- 
tion on her tomb in the church of Hagley, was also a 
tribute of Iiis ardent affeclion. It paints a woman of 
fashion as she ought. to be. It delineates a character, 
which to know is to admire- and love. Happy the wife 
who deserves it ! happy, thrice happy the husband, who. 
can apply it to the partner of his life ! 

Made to engage all hearts, and charm all eyes ; 

Though meek, magnanimous 5 though witty, wise ; 

Polite, as all her life in courts had been *, 

Yet g<»od, as she the world had never seen ; 

The- noble fire of an exalted mind, 

With gentlest female Jenderness c >mbin\d : 

Her speech was the melodious voice of Love, 

Her song the warbling of the vernal grove ; 

I lei , 



LORD LYTTELTOX. oOv) 

Her eloquence was sweeter than her song, 
Soft as her heartj and as her reason strong ; 
Iler form each beauty of her mind e>:;n 
Her mind was Virtue by- the Graces dress 1 *!* 

Two years before this lamented separation, Mr. Lyt- 
felton had been appointed one of the- lords of the trea- 
sury ; and, inspired with the flame of genius himself, 

he no sooner possessed the ability, than he became the 
patron of genius in others. Fielding, Thomson, Mallet*,. 
Young, Hammond, West, and Pope,* either tasted his 
bounty, or were honoured by his countenance. His ge- 
nerous regard to Thomson did not die with the object 
of it. He revised his orphan tragedy of Coriolanus for 
-the benefit of the deceased poets relations ; and wrote 
such an affecting prologue, that the- celebrated Quia 
burst into tears as he recited it, while the audience 
melted in sympathetic feeling with the actoiv 

But, though Lyttelton was now become a public man' 
and a patron, he did inot suffer the avocations of busi- 
ness, or the increase of worldly favour, to lure him from 
more serious concerns. In the sprightliness of juvenile 
confidence, in the vanity of conceit and affectation, he 
had been led away by doubts respecting the. authenticity 
of revelation ; he felt the pangs of incertitude on such 
a- momentous subject 4 he diligently applied himself to 
search the scriptures ; and, in. result, their internal evi- 
dence to his honest and unprejudiced mind afforded a 
luminous conviction of their truth. 

Anxious to remove that veil from others which had 
dimmed his own prospects, he published, soon after the 
death of his lady, a season of melancholy and reflection* 
" Observations on the Conversion and Apostleship of 
St. Paul." The incidents attending this part of Scrip- 
ture history had appeared so striking as to effect .his 
own entire conversion to the belief of Christianity ; 
infidelity itself has never been able to fabricate even a 
Q. 5 specious 



370 f LORD LYTTELTON. 

specious reply to his judicious and able defence of our 
holy religion. It had the happiest effect on the times 
in which it was produced ; and as often as it is read 
with seriousness and candour, it will either convince or 
confound the sceptic. 

Notwithstanding the violence of Lyttelton's grief for 
the loss of his lady, Jie judged it expedient to enter 
again into the bands of, marriage ; and he fixed on a 
daughter of Sir Robert Rich. In the heart that has 
once loved tenderly and truly, perhaps the enthusiasm 
of affection can never be a second time renewed ; and 
wedlock, even when contracted under the happiest 
omens, is so much influenced by minute circumstances, 
by temper, habit, and a congenial or contradictory dis- 
position, that we need not wonder if his second union 
did not produce alb the felicity which he had once tasted, 
or which he fondly hoped to enjoy. 

In 1751 his father died, when he succeeded to the ba- 
ronetage and the family estate at Hagley. The latter 
he did not augment, but was careful to adorn ; and by 
the embellishments of design, superadded to the beau- 
ties of art, made his domain one of the most delightful 
spots in the kingdom. 

By a diligent discharge of his parliamentary duty, and 
powers of eloquence which commanded attention, he 
gradually rose to some of the highest offices of the state. 
When violent clamours were raised against the bill 
which had been passed for 'the naturalization of the- 
Jews, Lyttelton made a speech in favour of its repeal, 
which for elegance and spirit, propriety of sentiment, 
and soundness of principle, may be thought a rival to 
the purest models of antiquity, and certainly equals any 
thing that modern times have produced. 

After reprobating the arguments whieh had been 
urged against the existing bill, he considered its probable 
effects in the present temper of the nation, ably discri- 
minated 



> iJORD LYTTELTON. 371 

mmated between steadiness in essentials, and a compli- 
ance with harmless, though, perhaps, rnistaken^opinions, 
and gave unanswerable reasons for the simple repeal of 
the atf ; beyond which he thought all concession to 
popular clamour would be weak and dangerous in the 
extreme. " It would open," said the animated orator, 
" a door to the wildest enthusiasm, and the most mis- 
chievous attacks of political disaffection working on that 
enthusiasm. If you encourage and authorize it to fall 
on the synagogue, it will go from thence to the meet- 
ing-houses, and in the end to the palace'.. The more 
zealous we are to support Christianity, the more vigilant 
should we be in maintaining toleration. If we bring 
back persecution, we bring back the anti-christian spirit 
of popery ; and when the spirit is here, the whole system 
will soon follow. Toleration is the basis of all public 
quiet. It is- a character of freedom given to the mind,, 
more valuable, I think, than that which secures our 
persons and estates. Indeed, they are inseparably con- 
nected together ; for where the mind is not free, where 
the conscience is enthralled, there is no freedom. " 

Such distinguished abilities^ accompanied by the best 
virtues of the heart, it might have been supposed would 
have perpetuated the political influence of Lyttelton ; 
but the fact seems to be, literature engrossed most of, 
his attention,, and he was more anxious to discover mo- 
ral truth than to guard against political intrigue. At 
intervals he favoured the world with his celebrated 
*< Dialogues of the Dead," and his elaborate " History 
of Henry II," dividing his time between the duties of 
his public functions, the pursuits of elegant literature, 
and the society of the learned and the great ; till a 
change of ministry taking place, in 1757, he was raised 
to a peerage, and retired from the agitation of state 
affairs. From that period, lord Lyttelton was only 
known as a statesman by occasional speeches in his par- 
Q 6 liamentary 



372 LGRD LYTTELTON". 

liamentary capacity: he lived chiefly at his beautiful 
seat of Hagley, endeared to his neighbours and to man- 
kind by the exercise of every humane quality, arid the 
practice of every virtue. 

Lord Lyttelton had never an athletic appearance ; 
his frame was slender and uncompacted, and his face 
was meagre and pale. Yet he reached the sixty-fourth 
year of his age, exempt from much corporeal infirmity*, 
when he was seized with his last illness, and resigned 
his breath with the hope and confidence of immortality. 
A little before his death, when all hopes of life were ex- 
tinguished, he thus addressed himself to his physician, 
" Doctor," said he, " you shall be my confessor. When 
I first set out in the world, I had friends who endea- 
voured to shake my belief in the Christian religion. I 
saw difficulties which staggered me ; but I kept my 
mind open to conviction. The evidences and doctrines 
of Christianity, studied with attention, made me a most 
firm and persuaded believer of its truth. I have made 
it the rule of my life, and it is now the ground of my 
hopes. In politics and public life, I have made the 
public good the rule of my conduct. I never gave 
counsels which I did not think the best at the time. I 
have seen that 1 was sometimes in the wrong ; but I . 
aid not err designedly. I have endeavoured, in private- 
life, to do all the good in my power ; and never for a. 
moment could indulge malicious or unjust designs upon 
any person whatsoever.'* 

When the last mortal struggle approached, he gave 
lord and lady Valentia, his daughter, who came to see 
him, his solemn » benediction ; adding, " Be good, be 
virtuous, my lord, you must come to this." In fine, 
his dying moments were the best comment on a well- 
spent life : they evinced unaffected magnanimity, pious 
resignation, and Christian hope. To the last, his under- 
standing was unimpaired : his closing hour exhibited 
2 -die 



LORD CLITR 3/3 

the brightest pattern of the Christian's triumph over, 
death. Whoever copies this virtuous and amiable ex- 
ample, may his exit be the same.. 



ROBERT, LORD CLIVE, OFPLASSEY. 

Born 1725— Died 1774. 
From I \tk George I. to X&ih George III. 

WHEN the love of glory stimulates to enterprise? 
when ambition aspires to honourable distinc- 
tion, and juvenile ardour prompts to reap laurels, 
wealth, or fame in distant climes ; the subsequent no- 
tices of a man who felt all those passions in their pro* 
gress and gratification, will serve as an additional jstU 
mulus or antidote, as an example or a warning 'to youth. 

Far be it from us to repress the generous panting for 
celebrity in honourable pursuits ; but if happiness be the 
prize proposed, it is neither confined to place nor sta* 
tion. It may soothe the breast of the peasant, in his 
thatched cottage ; it may shun the grasp of the most 
successful adventurer in the captivating regions of for- 
tune and of fame. 

Robert Clive, to whom the immortal Chatham gave 
the epithet of " a heaven-born general," was the son of 
a gentleman of ancient family, but moderate estate, re- 
sident at Styche, near Market Drayton, in Salop. At a 
very early period he was sent to a private school, at 
Lostock in Cheshire, under the tuition of Dr. Eaton, 
who predicted the future greatness of the man, from the 
superior courage and resources of the boy. " If this 
lad," he used to say, " lives to arrive at maturity, and 
has a proper opportunity of displaying his talents, few 
names will be greater than his." The prognostication 
of the master was verified, and his sagacity confirmed 

by 



374 LORD CLIVE. 

by the event. Under this preceptor he continued only 
till his eleventh year, when he was removed to a school 
at Market Drayton. The church of that place stands 
on a high hill ; and from nearly the top of its lofty 
steeple an old stone spout projefts, in the form of a dra- 
gon's head : on this young Clive was one day found 
seated, to the terror and astonishment of his master and 
school-fellows. Even at that early age, he wished to 
signalize himself by hazardous exploits ; and gave suf- 
ficient indications of the direction of his genius. From 
Market Drayton, his father again removed him to mer- 
chant-taylor's school in London ; and from this respec- 
table seminary to one at Hemelhempstead, in Hertford- 
shire. What could induce his father to be so very fickle 
in the choice of schools, it is impossible to say ; but, as 
might naturally be expected, his son was more indebted 
to his natural capacity, than to any learning which he 
could acquire under such a desultory plan of education* 
The policy of often removing a boy from one seminary tc 
another, without forcible reasons, is very questionable ; 
his proficiency will generally be in the inverse ratio g of this 
frequency. It may, however, be imagined, that a boy 
of Clive's daring disposition was not the most desirable 
for a scholar ; and accordingly he gained more credit 
from his masters for his intrepidity, which they did not 
admire, than for the qualities that were suited to his- 
age and situation. , 

If his father, however, was culpable in not training 
such a youth at a public school, where his associates 
would have done more to reclaim his eccentricities, than 
the authority of a master, he certainly deserves great 
praise for fixing his future destination. A spirit, so ac- 
tive and undaunted, had only to be launched on the 
world to make its way in it. Having procured the ap- 
pointment of writer, in the service of the East-India 
Company, young Clive embarked for that country, and 

arrived, 



LORD CLIVE, 375 

arrived at Madras, -in the nineteenth year of his age. 
Of the numerous adventurers, who go in quest of fame 
or fortune to that quarter of the globe, many either fall 
martyrs to the climate, or return without the indepen- 
dence for which they sigh; yet a few splendid instances 
of success still stimulate adventure, and each fresh 
comer hopes to draw one of the capital prizes in the 
lottery of life. The fascinating illusions, conjured up 
by youthful fancy, invite pursuit to the ends of the earth, 
and still dance before the enraptured eye, and still shuii 
the grasp. 

The business of a writer was as disagreeable to Clive, 
as the restraint of a school ; and it was not long before 
he unluckily involved himself with his superiors. On 
one occasion he had insulted the secretary; and, the 
business being reported to the governor, he was desired 
to ask pardon. This forced submission he made in 
terms of indignant contempt ; but the secretary, willing 
to admit it, invited the young gentleman to dinner: 
u No, Sir," replied Clive, " the Governor did not com- 
mand me to dine with you." 

Two years after he had been in the Indies, Madras 
surrendered to the French, and the officers of the com- 
pany, civil and military, became prisoners on their pa- 
role. The capitulation being violated, the English con- 
ceived themselves released from their engagements, and 
made their escape as opportunity served The ingenious 
resources of Clive enabled him to reach St. David's, a 
fortress about twenty-one miles south of Madras. 

At this place, being engaged at cards, two ensigns of 
the party were detected in cheating. The losers at first 
refused to pay, but were all intimidated by their mili- 
tary companions, except Clive, who accepted a chal- 
lenge from the boldest champion of gaming depreda- 
tion; and fired the first pistol without effect. His anta- 
gonist, a disgrace to the honourable name of officer, 

quitting 



37^'' LORD CLIVE. 

quitting his station, presented his pistol at Clive's head,' . 
and insisted on his asking his life. With this he reluc- 
tantly complied ; but, when he was further required to 
recant the expressions which he had used, fie perempto- 
rily refused; and when menaced with instant destruc- 
tion, dared his opponent to fire, repeating, " I said you 
cheated, I say so still, and I will never pay you." This 
, firmness so daunted the gambling hero, he threw away 
mVpistolj-and called him a madman. When Clive was 
complimented on his resolution in this disagreeable af- 
fair, with a genuine spirit of honour, he replied ; " The 
man has given me my life, and I have no right in future 
to mention his behaviour at the card-table; but I will' 
neither pay him, nor keep him company." 

Civil engagements being interrupted by the flames of 
war, in 174*7 Clive obtained an ensigncy; and, at the 
siege of Pondicherry, shewed that lie was now in his 
proper sphere.- The young officer displayed the utmost ' 
gallantry in defence of the advanced trench, and re- 
ceived one shot through his hat, and another through' 
his coat, while some of his companions were falling, 
without ever 5 flinching from his post, or indicating the 
slightest symptoms of alarm. 

On his return to St,. David's,- after the siege was rais- 
ed, he had an a flair of honour with an officer, who had * 
unjustly reflected on his-- character, in an' instance for 
which lie deserved the highest praise.' His resolute tetn- 
per again brought him off with credit; and his defamer, 
to avoid the infamy to which he had exposed himself u 
by his illiberality and his -cowardice, was obliged to re- - 
sign his commission. 

To enter into a detail of India politics, and the mili- : 

tary operations which took place in consequence of- 

. them between the rival nations of England and France, - 

who espoused the different interests of the native powers, 

would carry us into too wide a field. Clive was daily, 

rising 



LORD CL1TE. 377 

vising in glory; and at the reduction of Devi Cotah, 
under major Lawrence, his courage shone with superior 
lustre. Though then only possessing the rank of- lieu- 
tenant, he solicited the command of the forlorn hope,* 
which, with some hesitation, was granted him. A 
practicable breach was supposed to be made, and Give," 
with thirty-four British soldiers, and seven hundred se- 
poys, attempted to storm the place. The sepoys were 
soon intimidated, and halted ; but the British advancing, 
fell into an ambuscade, and twenty-six of them were 
killed. Give had the good fortune to escape a stroke 
that was aimed at him by a horseman in passing ; and, 
with three others, providentially, -rejoined the sepoys* 
The commander, observing the disaster, ordered all 
the Europeans to advance. Give advanced in the first 
division, and was again attacked by the enemy's horse; 
but the bravery of the English at length prevailed, and 
the garrison, intimidated at the fury of the assailants, 
abandoned the town ; when the rajah made overtures 
of peace, which were accepted on terms highly favour- 
able to the Company. 

The war being at last terminated, Give, who still 
panted for fresh laurels, was obliged to resume his civil 
appointment ; but with the office of commissary to the 
British troops, procured him by the friendship of major 
Lawrence. He had not, however, been long settled at 
Madras, before he was seized with a fever of the ner- 
vous kind, which had a baneful effect on his constitu- 
tion and spirits, and from the effects of which he never 
seems to have perfectly recovered. Unless when roused 
by active exertions, from this period he seems to have- 
been subject to temporary dejections of mind, which 
poisoned the enjoyment of life, and made him prefer the 
most hazardous enterprizes, for which his genius was 
adapted, to the tranquil scenes of peaceful retirement. 

The French, though frustrated in their immediate 

views, 



378 LOPvD CLIVE. 

views, employed the interval of peace in fomenting new 
disturbances, and strengthening their connection with the 
country powers. They gradually formed such projects 
of aggrandizement as reduced the English to the utmost 
perplexity and danger; and Clive once more resumed 
his military character, with the rank of captain. At the 
head of two hundred and ten Europeans, and five hun- 
dred Sepoys, he entered the province of Arcot with such 
/promptitude and secrecy, that he had taken its capital 
before the enemy were apprized of his motions. The 
inhabitants expected to be plundered, and offered a li- 
beral ransom ; but Clive displayed the generosity of a 
British conqueror, in relieving them from apprehension 
respecting either their persons or their property; and 
only required that they should furnish him with provi- 
sions, for which they were punctually paid. This ho- 
nest policy conciliated the affections of the natives in 
an extraordinary degree; and Clive felt the good effects 
of his moderation on some important occasions, which 
soon after presented themselves. 

In almost every subsequent action of consequence^ 
captain Clive bore away fresh laurels;- the prodigies of 
valour which he performed are recorded in the annals 
of history; and, after a series of important services, 
he returned to England, when the East-India Company 
treated him with flattering distinction, and voted him a 
present of an elegant diamond-hilted sword; which, 
with the most honourable feeling of friendship, he de* 
clined accepting till they paid colonel Lawrence, under 
whose auspices he had risen, the same compliment. 

Returning to India, with the rank of lieutenant colo- 
nel in the royal service, and the appointment of gover- 
nor of St. David's, with the right of succession to that 
of Madras, he employed the interval of peace between 
the French and the English, in attacking Geriah, the 
altnost impregnable capital of the pirate Angria's domi* 

nionsj 



LORD CLIVE. 3/9 

nions, who had committed galling depredations on the 
trade of the English in those seas. By the assistance of the 
fleet, he succeeded in this dangerous enterprise ; an im- 
mense quantity of stores and effects fell into his hands, 
with the wife, children, and mother of Angria, to whom 
he extended the most generous protection. 

War again being declared against the French, whose 
turbulence and insidious politics no treaties could re- 
strain, Clive, who had now the principal command of 
the forces in India, by an unbroken series of triumphs, 
humbled iheir arrogance, and reduced their partizans 
to despair. At the battle of Plassey, against the subah 
of the Decan, with only a handful of men, opposed to a 
formidable army, he obtained a complete victory; one 
of the most shining indeed in the annals of Orien- 
tal warfare. In a word, as a sensible writer observes, 
" whoever contemplates the forlorn situation of the 
English East-India Company, when Clive first arrived 
at Calcutta, in 1756, and considers the degree of opu- 
lence and power they possessed when he finally left 
that place in 1767 y will be convinced that the history of 
the world has rarely afforded an instance of so rapid and 
improbable a change." 

As some honourable acknowledgment for his impor-. 
tant services, he was raised to the dignity of an Irish 
peer, by the title of lord Clive, baron of Plassey, and 
made a knight of the bath. But the favour of .his sove- 
reign and of the India company, with his own signal ex- 
ploits, could not screen him from those attacks to which 
even purer virtue is frequently obliged to submit. The 
suspicions, real or pretended, that had long lain dor- 
mant, broke out in the house of commons in 1773, when 
a motion was made to resolve, " that in the acquisition 
of his wealth, lord Clive had abused the powers with 
which he had been entrusted." This stroke was aimed 
both at his fortune and his fame. He repelled the alle- 
gations with the spirit of a man who knew he had de-» 



3S0 LORD CLIVE. 

served better of his country, and descanted on the cruel* 
ty of suffering a charge to hang over his head for six- 
teen years before it was brought to issue; concluding, 
" that if the motion should pass he might be made 
poor, but he could still be happy." The house, how- 
ever, so far from acceding to the terms of \ the proposed 
motion, resolved, " that- lord Give had rendered great 
and meritorious services to his country." ' 

Lord Clive was certainly one of the most original mi- 
litary geniuses that modern times have produced. He 
owed nothing to others, but all to himself. Prompt and 
vigorous in execution, secret and sagacious in planning, 
his energies were like lightning ; they were felt before 
they were perceived. If he amassed a large fortune, he 
employed it in acts of munificence, which could have 
done no discredit to the liberality of a prince. To the 
invalid servants of the East-India Company, he made, 
atone time, a present of 70,000.'. ■; nor were his private 
charities less commendable, or less discriminating. And 
should envy still tax his opulence, or malice condemn it, 
let it be known, that others enjoyed it more than him- 
self. In consequence of that severe illness, with which 
he had been attacked many years before, and a long ex- 
posure to the fatigues of his station, in a climate which, 
of itself, is sufficient to destroy the vigour of health, he 
was unhappy unless when busily engaged, and often 
discovered anxieties of mind, from which "no lenitives of 
friendship, no medicines could relieve him. Surround- 
ed with splendor, it did not often elevate him to joy, 
unless among his intimate friends, by whom he was sin- 
cerely beloved. In every domestic relation, indeed, he 
was not only blameless but praise-worthy; and his so- 
cial virtues commanded as much applause, as his he- 
roism had gained admiration. Why did not felicity as 
well as fortune shine upon him? Why did not the re- 
trospect of a life, useful to his country, soothe him in 

the 



WILLIAM PITT. 381 

the shade of tranquillity ? Why did not religion arm 
him with resolution to endure what Providence was 
pleased to lay upon him ? The ways of Heaven are dark 
and intricate. Some possess a taste for enjoyment, but 
want the means ; while we see others, as if it were intend- 
ed to repress our murmurs at the dispensations of Pro- 
vidence, gradually lose relish for life, when every grati- 
fication is within their reach, and invites them to par- 
take it ! 



WILLIAM PITT. 

EARL OF CHATHAM. 

Born 1707— Died 1778. 

From bth Q. Anne to \%tk Geo. III. 

*< *T DID not intend to make a public declaration of the 
JL respect I bear lord Chatham ;but I am called upon 
to deliver my opinion, and even the pen of Junius shall 
contribute to reward him. Recorded honours shall ga- 
ther round his monument, and thicken over him. It is 
a solid fabric, and will support the laurels that adorn it. 
I am not conversant with the language of panegyric. — 
These praises'are extorted from me ; but they will wear 
well, as they have been dearly earned." 
j Such was the elegant eulogy paid by the celebrated 
Junius to the earl of Chatham, before the curtain had 
dropped on the statesman's labours, and his part in the 
drama was completed. But firmness and consistency 
-were characteristic of William Pitt ; and from his pre- 
ceding life, the able and penetrating writer whom we 
have quoted might well predict that the close would be 
in unison witk it. 

William Pitt, who filled such a wide and honourable 
space in the public eye, whose glories are still fresh in 
the memory of his countrymen- and of Europe, and 

whose 



382 WILLIAM PITT, 

whose well-earned fame will be commensurate with 
time itself, was the son of Robert Pitt, esq. of Bocon- 
nock, in Cornwall. This family was, originally of Dor- 
setshire, where it had long been respectably established ; 
but no ancestors could reflect additional lustre on a 
man so truly great. 

Eton, which has produced so many illustrious names, 
had the honour of his classical institution. Thence he 
was removed to Trinity college, Oxford, which may 
well be proud of such an eleve : 

-————Nor thou refuse 



This humble present of no partial muse, 

From that calm bower which riursM thy thoughtful youth 

In the pure precepts of Athenian truth ; 

Where first the form of British Liberty 

EcamM in full radiance on thy musing eye. 

Wharton. 

Mr. Pitt has left some testimonies of his homage to 
the Muses; and, that he possessed a poetic imagination 
the fervid pathos and imagery of his eloquence will 
place beyond a doubt. General literature, however, 
absorbed his principal attention : and, by a singular ref- 
lation of causes and effects, what seemed the greatest 
misfortune of his life, very probably led to its most ex- 
alted splendor. Scarcely had he reached the sixteenth 
year of his age, when he became a martyr to an heredi- 
tary gout. A delicacy of constitution, and the restraints 
which it imposes, are generally propitious to study and 
reflection. Pitt had neither taste, nor strength of frame, 
to engage deep in dissipation ; and his genius soared 
above the vulgar allurements of vicious pleasure.' He 
devoted the leisure and confinement of indisposition to 
the acquirement of a vast fund of premature and useful 
knowledge, which in due time he brought forward, at 
once to astonish and confound. 

After receiving a liberal education, he procured a cor- 
net cy 



EARL OF CHATHAM. 383 

netcy of horse; but die senate, not the camp, was the 
scene where he was best qualified to shine. His friends, 
among whom, Sarah, duchess of Marlborough, was the 
most zealous, forming a due estimate of his talents, ac- 
cordingly brought him into parliament for the borough 
of Old Sarum, in 1735; and on this splendid theatre he 
early distinguished himself in the ranks of opposition. 
Popularity, indeed, is too commonly the first objecl of 
public men ; and place and profit are the natural con- 
sequence. 

The minister, Sir Robert Walpole, was alarmed and 
thunderstruck at the very sound of his -voice and the 
lightning of his eye; but when he witnessed the impetu- 
ous torrent of his eloquence, he is said to have told his 
friends that he should be glad, at any rate, " to muzzle 
that terrible cornet of horse. 5 ' Pitt, however, had chosen 
his side, and knew his powers : enamoured of virtue 
and public spirit, no military prospects, nor ministerial 
honors, ccnld divert him from the cause which he deem- 
ed honorable; and, when he lost his commission in con- i 
sequence of his spirited behaviour in parliament, Lyt- 
telton paid him the following elegant compliment, which 
at the same time conveys a bitter ironical sarcasm on 
the premier : 

Long had thy virtue markM thee out for fame, 
Far, far superior to a cornet's name; 
This generous Walpole saw, and grievM to find 
So mean a post disgrace that noble mind ; 
t The servile standard from thy free-born hand 

He took, and bade thee lead the patriot band. 

To particularize every instance of the nervous, daz- 
zling eloquence of Pitt, even during his noviciate, would 
be to write the parliamentary history of several years. 
In the debate on the bill for registering seamen, which 
Mr. Pitt represented as arbitrary and unjust, Mr. Ho- 
ratio Walpole having sarcastically remarked on his 
youth and animated gesture, met with acutting retort, 

5 which 



384 WILLIAM PITT, 

^/hich'we are sorry we cannot transcribe at length, as a 
specimen of that glowing and impassioned language 
which was characteristic of the speaker. " I will not un- 
dertake/ ' said he, " to determine, whether youth can 
justly be imputed to any man as a reproach; but I will 
affirm, that the wretch, who, after having seen the con- 
sequence of repeated errors, continues still to blunder, 
and whose age has only added obstinacy to stupidity, 
is, surely, the object either of abhorrence or contempt, 
and deserves not that his grey hairs should secure hirn 
from insult. Much more is he to be abhorred, who, as 
he has advanced in age, has receded from virtue, and 
becomes more wicked with less temptation ; who prosti- 
tutes himself for money which he cannot enjoy, and 
spends the remains of his life in the ruin of his coun- 
try." 

Frederick, prince of Wales, who had long'been the 
rallying point of opposition, and who, consistently with 
his noble sentiments, took men of genius, talents, and 
honesty under his protection, appointed Mr. Pitt a groom 
of the. bed-chamber, which office he held till 17 '4-5 ; and 
for his firm adherence to the patriotic side, he experi- 
enced about the same time an exalted proof, though 
not the only one, of the estimation in which he was 
holden by the public. The duchess of Marlborough, 
who to a masculine understanding united a zeal to be 
distinguished as a politician, having, from his first en- 
trance into life, supported Mr. Pitt by her patronage, 
now left him a very honourable testimony of her regard, 
in a legacy of 10,000/. ; expressly, as she declared, " for 
defending the laws of his country, and warding off its 
ruin." 

But abilities such as his, could not in in 

useless opposition. He was 
of his country, and to direc- 
affairs were conducted in a i .\. ; 



EARL OF CHATHAM. S85 

to participate in its administration without any derelic- 
tion of principle, in 17^6, he accepted the office of joint- 
treasurer of Ireland ; and the same year became trea- 
surer and pay-master of the army, and was sworn a privy- 
oouncilior. But, though now engaged to the court by 
interest, he did not sacrifice the independence of his - 
vote to any partial views. He knew the unpopularity 
attached to continental connections, his better sense saw 
their destructive tendency, his patriotism led him to op- 
pose them ; and, in consequence, he made a temporary 
resignation of all his places. 

It was not long, however, that he remained unem- 
ployed. In December, 1756, he was appointed secre- 
tary of state for the southern department, with un- 
bounded public applause ; but in a short time he dis- 
cerned that he could not be acceptable to his sovereign, 
without deserting the interests of the people ; and to a 
man, who placed his glory in patriotic, upright conduct, 
the alternative was easily decided. The love and con- 
fidence of the nation had contributed to make him what 
he was : he foresaw that they might be alienated by indif- 
ference, they might be lost by presumption ; but s$ 
well was he fixed in the public opinion, that while he 
studied by honourable means to retain it, he knew it 
would accompany him. In a short time after his resig- 
nation, his hopes were realized ; the voice of the people 
was so loudly expressed in his favour* and their affection 
seemed so strongly rivetted to his interest, that it was 
deemed politic to recal him to the cabinet, with a large 
accession of power. In June, 1757, he was again ap- 
pointed secretary of state, with the full authority of 
prime minister. His colleagues were either men of his 
own principles, or wholly subservient to his more en- 
larged views. The preceding ministry had been both 
unfortunate and unpopular, the war, in which the na- 
tion had been engaged, was carried on without spirit 
R- - and 



386 WILLIAM PITT, 

and without success. But no sooner was Mr. Pitt 
placed at the helm, than his active genius pervaded 
every department of the state ; his spirit animated a 
whole nation. His plans were conceived with ability, 
and executed with a vigour and promptitude that asto- 
nished both friends and enemies. The whole fortune 
of the war was changed, and victory attended the arms 
of Britain, wherever her military operations were di- 
rected. Europe, Asia, America, felt and acknowledged 
the influence of this able minister. The French were 
defeated in every quarter of the globe ; their navy, 
their commerce, and their finances, in the space of a 
very few years, were brought to the verge of ruin. 
" Meanwhile," to adopt the words of an elegant writer, 
u the glory of Mr. Pitt advanced like a regular fabric. 
Gradual in its commencement, it, however, discovered 
to the discerning eye a grandeur of design, and pro- 
mised the most magnificent effects. By degrees it dis- 
closed, beauty, utility, and majesty ; it outstretched 
the eye of the spectator, and hid its head among the 
clouds." 

Amidst the brilliant career of success which might 
fairly be ascribed, under Providence, to the virtuous 
energies of one man, his majesty George II. departed 
this life. About this period the French had succeeded in 
.obtaining the co-operation of Spain -by secret manoeu- 
vres : which, however, did not elude the vigilance or 
escape the penetration of Mr. Pitt. He had procured 
private, though certain intelligence of the Bourbon com- 
pact ; and with his usual vigour of decision, was for 
striking the first blow against Spain. He proposed in 
council, that war should be immediately declared 
against that power, and orders instantly sent to capture 
her vessels ; urging with the utmost energy, the impo- 
licy of suffering her to put herself in a posture of de- 
fence, and to secure her treasure before she threw off 

£ the 



EARL OP CHATHAM, 387 

the mask. Other sentiments now influenced the cabi* 
net than when Mr. Pitt began his career. He found 
tlv members disposed to temporize, and to pause, be- 
fore they created a new enemy. " I will not give them 
leave to think, " replied the indignant minister ; " this 
is the time, let us crush the whole house of Bourbon. 
But if the members of this board are of a different opi- 
nion, i r time I shall ever mix in its councils. 
I was called into the ministry by the voice of the people, 
and to them I hold myself responsible. I am to thank 
the ministry of the late king for their support; I have 
served my country with fidelity and some success ; but 
I will not be answerable for the conduct: of the war any 
longer than 1 retain the direction of it." 

Cramped in his energies by the growing influence of 
the earl of Bute, perhaps too proud to brook controul, 
certainly too honest to change his principles, and dis- 
daining to be only the nominal head of a cabinet over 
which he had presided with honour to himself and ad- 
vantage to his country, he resigned his places ; and a 
few months more justified the wisdom of the measure 
which he had recommended, when it was too late to 
retrieve the error that had occasioned its rejection. 

Whether with a design to lessen his popularity, or in- 
tended as a testimony of gratitude for his eminent and 
meritorious services, he was offered and he accepted a 
pension for three lives, and the title of a baroness for 
his lady. . 

The fallen minister is frequently insulted, a?d at best 
soon forgotten ; but William Pitt carried the confidence 
and respect of the nation with him into his retirement,, 
and received very flattering testimonies of approbation 
from the most respectable individuals and communi- 
ties. The impetus which he had given to the machine 
of state was felt for some time after he had withdrawn 
from its direction ; and the illustrious commanders, who 
R 2 had 



388 WILLIAM PITT, 

had risen under his auspices, did not suffer the national 
glory to sink. New victories were gained, and in the 
prosperity of the empire the people consoled themselves 
for the loss of a favourj^ minister. 

At last the preliminaries of peace were submitted to 
parliament, and Mr. Pitt, though labouring under a 
severe fit of the gout, attended the house, and spoke for 
three hours in the debate; giving the most unanswer- 
able reasons for his opposition to the terms of the treaty, 
as being inadequate to our conquests, and the expendi- 
ture of public money w T hich they had cost. The love 
of peace is natural to man: he sighs for it amidst the 
most successful war : the definitive treaty was therefore 
ratified, but the ministry who had concluded it, felt 
themselves unable to maintain their ground in the pub- 
lic opinion, and a spirit of opposition began to shew it- 
self against the general measures of government, which 
has ever since continued to distract the public mind, 
and is felt in its tendencies and effects to this very day. 
Mr. Pitt, however, observed a dignified moderation. 
His opposition was neither petulant nor undiscriminating, 
and he appeared on the stage only when occasions pre- 
sented themselves worthy of his powers. When the im- 
portant question of general warrants was discussed, his 
love of rational liberty broke forth in strains to which a 
Tully or a Demosthenes would have listened with eager 
satisfaction. He declared them repugnant to every 
principle of freedom. Were they tolerated, the most in- 
nocent could not be secure. " By the British constitu- 
tion/' continued he, " every man's house is his castle; 
not that it is surrounded by walls and battlements ;— 
it may be a straw-built shed ; — every wind of heaven 
may whistle round it ; — all the elements of heaven may 
enter it; — but the king cannot — the king dare not." 

When those impolitic measures had been proposed, 
idjick unfortunately terminated io the separation of 

America, 



EARL OF CHATHAM. 38Q 

America, Mr. Pitt strenuously opposed them in the se- 
nate, and exerted his wonderful powers to heal the 
wound that had been given, by promoting the repeal of 
the stamp-act. This was carried ; and a new ministry 
having been formed, Mr. Pitt was made lord privy s^ 
and created earl of Chatham. A short tirjM|rt5eforJJ 
Sir William Pynsent, of Burton Pynsent, in Soi^fe|^- i 
shire, a man of considerable property, without any very 
near relatives, made Mr. Pitt his heir. To this he was 
actuated solely by an enthusiastic admiration of Mr. 
Pitt's public character ; and we need adduce no stronger 
proof of the singular estimation in which he was hoi- 
den, than that he received greater remunerations for his- 
services from private zeal, than from the emoluments 
of public office. 

Whatever accession of honour a peerage gave him, 
the great commoner, as he used emphatically to be call- 
ed, was now obscured in dividing his honours with 
others- In the house of commons he stood unrivalled 
and alone ; but in the house of peers he had less oppor-* 
tunity for exerting his talents, and he lost, at least for 
a time, in popularity, what he gained in rank. In two 
years he resigned the office of lord privy seal; and be- 
ing now sixty years of age, and debilitated by frequent 
attacks of the gout, he courted retirement, and aban- 
doned all ambition of ever more taking an active part 
in administration. 

Nevertheless, when the commotions broke out in 
America, he gave a decided opposition to the fatal mea- 
sures which the ministry were pursuing ; but when he 
found them lulled in security, or infatuated by folly to 
persevere, till repeated defeats and disgraces at last 
opened their eyes ; when he saw France interfere in 
the contest, and the independence of America about to 
be recognised, by the weak and deluded administration 
that had hitherto contended for unconditional submission; 

R3 he 



3Q0 WILLIAM PITT, 

he summoned up all the energy of his soul, and poured 
forth his eloquence against a measure so inglorious, and 
so fraught with ruin in its consequences, to his country 
- and to mankind. 

^NSThe duke of Richmond replied, and combated his ar- 
gumerfcHnj The mind of Chatham seemed labouring 
with a desire to give vent to the further dictates of his 
soul on this momentous subject. He attempted to rise 
as his grace sat- down, but his emotions proved too 
strong for his debilitated frame. He suddenly pressed 
his hand on his stomach, and fell into convulsions. The 
house was electrified by this melancholy circumstance, 
and every one anxiously strove to procure relief. But 
the scene of mortal existence was about to close for ever* 
This was the last public effort of the immortal minister, 
senator, and patriot, William Pitt; and he might be said 
to breathe his last in the se.rvice of his country. He 
died in about a month after; and the enthusiastic re- 
spect which was paid to his memory, shewed how de- 
servedly dear he was to the public, and how sensible 
every true-born Briton was of his loss. A public fune- 
ral was voted him by the legislature, and a monument 
in Westminster abbey, with a liberal pension to his 
heirs, to whom the title should descend. 

All ranks were zealous to testify their sincere regret 
and admiration, and he is still universally allowed to 
have been as profound a politician, as able a senator, and 
as upright a minister, as this country ever produced, 

Sagacity, promptitude, and energy, were the predo- 
minating traits of lord Chatham's character., His ruU 
ing passion was an ambitious love of glory, but it was 
of an honourable and virtuous kind ; he practised no 
meanness to obtain it, and his private life was unsullied 
by any vice. He was conscious of his virtues and ta- 
lents, and therefore appeared impatient of contradiction 
in public affairs; but in society he could unbend to all 

companies, 



EARL OF CHATHAM. 3()l 

panics, and possessed such a fund of intelligence 
and versatility of wit, that he could adapt himself to all 
circumstances and occasions. 

In the higher parts of oratory he had no competitor, 
and stood alone the rival of antiquity. His eloquence 
was of every kind, and lie excelled in the argumentative 
as well as the declamatory species. But his invectives 
were terrible, and uttered with such energy of diction, 
and such dignity of action and countenance, that he in- 
timidated those who were the most willing and the 
best able to encounter him. Their arms fell from their 
hands, and they shrunk under the ascendant which his 
genius had gained over theirs. The fluent Murray has 
fault ered, and Fox, lord Holland, shrunk back ap- 
palled, from an adversary " fraught with fire unquench- 
able," if the expression may be permitted. 

" He could adapt himself to every topic, but dignity 
was the character of his oratory, and his personal great- 
ness gave weight to the style he assumed. His asser- 
tions rose into proof, his foresight became prophecy. No 
clue was necessary to the labyrinth illumined by his ge- 
nius. Truth came forth at his bidding, and realized 
the wish of the philosopher 5 she was seen and beloved." 

Such are the panegyrics paid to this great man's in- 
tellectual and expressive powers by some who were wit- 
nesses of their effects, and judges of their merits. 

On a character so'highly respected, and endeared to 
Englishmen, it would be grateful to -enlarge; but we 
can add nothing new to what has" been advanced in his 
commendation by the ablest writers; and silent admi- 
ration on such a favourite subject is, perhaps, the most 
eloquent and efficient praise ! 



R*. DAVID 



( 302 ) 

DAVID GARRICK, Esq, 

Born 1719— Died 1779. 
From h!h George J. to \§tk George II L 

The grace of action, the adapted mien, 

Faithful as nature to the varied scene; 

Th' expressive glance, whose subtle comment draws 

Entranced attention, and a mute applause ; 

Gesture that marks, with force and feeling fraught, 

A sense in silence, and a will in thought ; 

Harmonious speech, whose pure and liquid tone 

Gives verse a music scarce confessed its own ; 

(As light from gems assumes a brighter ray, 

And clothM with orient hues transcends the day) : 

Passion's wild break, and frown that awes the sense, 

And every charm of gentler eloquence; — 

All perishable, like th'ele&ric fire, 

But strike the frame, and as they strike expire : 

Incense too choice a bodied flame to bear, 

Its fragrance charms the sense, and blends with air, 

Monopy to the menwry n/ Garrick. 

THE poet lives in his lays, the painter on his can- 
vas ; all the imitative arts, except the scenic, 
leavesome memorials to illustrate the fame of proficients ; 
but the transient beauties of dramatic acting have no 
" local habitation;" they blaze, and expire in an in- 
stant. The spectator can scarcely fix them in his me- 
mory ; and posterity can form no idea of them, except 
from the effects which they are recorded to- have pro- 
duced. The candidates for theatric fame are neverthe* 
less numerous; as it frequently happens^ that specious 
talents are more encouraged than real, and because the 
clap of applause is more gratifying to many minds, than 
the lasting plaudits of the world, which, perhaps, are 
not paid on this side the grave. Yet surely this consi- 
deration ought to have much weight with the young 
and inexperienced, " that a mediocrity of scenic excel- 
lence will never gain either praise or reward, and that 

the 



DAVID GARRICK. 3Q3 

the highest attainments in the art are perishable as the 
frame that produces them." Even Garrick, who reach- 
ed the acme of his profession, could not embody his ex- 
cellencies; and no description of the voice or pen can 
do them justice. 

This great actor was descended from a French family*, 
which the revocation of the edict of Nantz had expatri- 
ated. His father obtained a captain's commission in the 
British army, and generally resided at Litchfield. Our 
actor, however, was born at Hereford, and seems to have 
received the early part of his education there ; but at 
ten years of age was removed to the grammar-school of - 
Litchfield. His proficiency in scholastic learning was 
not great, because his application was small. He pos- 
sessed a vivacity of temper, which disqualified him for 
attention to books ; and the love of theatric representa- 
tion seems to have been interwoven with, his very con- 
stitution. In his eleventh year, he formed the project 
©f getting up the Recruiting Officer , and having pre- 
viously trained his youthful associates, they performed 
in a barn, with general applause. The young hero of 
the stage particularly distinguished himself in the cha- 
racter of Sergeant Kite, and the plaudits which he re- 
ceived on this occasion served to fan the predominant 
passion of his breast, which, however, was not suffered 
to burst into a flame, till it had acquired strength to 
support a steady blaze. Soon after, on the invitation 
of an uncle, who was engaged in the wine -trade at Lis- 
bon, young Garrick visited that city; but his taste was 
totally incompatible with the pursuits of commerce, and 
the frolicksome vivacity of the nephew did not comport 
with the grave formality of the merchant. In conse- 
quence they soon parted, yet not before Garrick had 
made himself agreeable to the gay part of the English 
factory by his turn for sportiveness and mimicry, which 
are pleasing in the boy, though often dangerous to 
future man, R '5 



3Q4 DAVID GARRICK; 

Returning to Litchfield, he was placed for some little 
time under his illustrious townsman, Samuel Johnson : 
but the master, however well qualified to instruct, had 
no great partiality for the profession which he had 
chosen; and Garrick was as little disposed to learn. 
Both being soon weary of their situation, in 1737 they 
set out together to try their fortunes in the great metro- 
polis ; Garrick being then about eighteen years of age. 

Soon after his arrival in London, he entered himself 
of the Temple, with a design, as it should seem, to study 
the law as a profession; but being now sensible of his 
little improvement in learning, and feeling the necessity 
of bestowing a more attentive application; he put him- 
self under the instruction of Mr. Colson, an eminent ma- 
thematician at Rochester, and for some time pursued 
his studies with diligence and success. It was not long,, 
however, before his uncle died, and left him a legacy of 
1000/.. Unsettled in his mind, and desultory in his pur- 
suits, because his filial affection kept him from indulg- 
ing his fixed and unconquerable propensity to the stage* 
he entered soon after into partnership with his brother 
Peter, a wine-merchant in London. This union was 
also of short duration. The tempers and habits of the- 
two brothers were diametrically opposite ; and, to avoid 
the unpleasantness of daily altercation, they parted by 
mutual consent. 

In this interval his mother had departed life ; and,. 
being now emancipated from a restraint which his duty 
had imposed on him, he gave a loose to bis darling pas- 
sion for the stage; and associated chiefly with those 
from whom he could derive dramatic improvement or 
pleasure. In the company of the most celebrated actors 
he tried his powers, and frequented the theatre as- a school 
where he was to learn the principles of his art; 

Garrick, however, though enthusiastic in his pursuit, 
wa? not one of those inconsiderate votaries foi*. dramatic. 

fame*. 



DAVID GARRICK. 3Q5 

fame, who risk success by crude and abortive attempts. 
He formed a proper estimate of his native powers, and 
he did not expose them before they gained maturity. 
At once to make a debut on the London stage, he con- 
sidered as too hazardous, and therefore he passed his 
noviciate at Ipswich, under Mess. Gerard and Dunstall, 
in the summer of 1741. The first character in which 
he appeared was that of Aboan, in Oroonoko, under 
the adopted name of Lyddal; and the applause which 
he gained did credit to the taste of his provincial judges. 
In quick succession he performed several capital parts, 
both in tragedy and comedy ; even to excel in the feats 
of harlequin was not beneath his ambition. In every 
essay, and in every character, he met with the loudest 
plaudits; and, having now gained confidence by suc- 
cess, he appeared next winter on the stage at 'Good- 
jnan's-fields. The first character which he represented to 
an admiring London audience, was that of Richard III. 
and the most eminent connoisseurs of dramatic excel- 
lence in the great world confirmed the decisions of Ips- 
wich. In a short time, Drury-lane and Covent-garden 
were almost deserted. It was unfashionable not to see 
Garrick, and as unfashionable not to admire him. He 
was universally acknowledged by the, most competent 
judges to be a rising prodigy on the stage ; and alone, 
but in vain, did the interested part of his profession en^ 
deavour to depreciate his worth. Quin could not con- 
ceal his chagrin ; and, being told of his unbounded suc- 
cess, observed with pointed irony, " that Garrick's was 
a new religion ; Whitfield was followed for a time, but 
that people would soon return to church again." This 
bon mot being reported to the young actor, with a pecu- 
liar felicity of epigrammatic point lie wrote the follow- 
ing lines : 

Pope Quin, \vho"damns all churches but his own,. 
"Complains -that heresy corrupts the town. 

R 6 Schism, 



396 DAVID GARRICK. 

Schism, he cries, has turnM a nation's brain 5 
But eyes will open ; and to church again ! 
Then, great infallible ! forbear to roar; 
Thy bulls and errors are reverM no more. 
When doctrines meet with general approbation, 
It is not heresy — but reformation. 

But if Garrick was a match for his jealous opponents 
at the pen, he found himself inferior in influence. Hav- 
ing been admitted to a moiety of the profits at Good- 
man's-fields, the patentees of the other theatres saw they 
must subvert his empire to preserve their own. An act 
of parliament was obtained to confine dramatic exhibi- 
tions to Drury-lane and Co vent-garden ; and Garrick 
entered into an agreement with the manager of the for- 
mer, on the salary of 500/. a year. He had previously 
made himself known as a dramatic writer by his " Lying 
Valet," and " Lethe;" and now he began to obtain the 
appellation of the English Roscius, and to be courted by 
the elegant, and patronized by the great. 

Such was his celebrity, that Ireland early expressed 
a desire to witness his powers ; and, having obtained 
very lucrative terms, he performed in Dublin, during 
the summer of 1742, with such uncommon eclat, and to 
such crowded houses, that an epidemical mortal fever 
broke out, which went by the name of Garrick's disor- 
der. His reception in that hospitable country was the 
most flattering that any ador ever experienced, either 
before or since. 

In the winter he resumed his station at Drury-lane, 
and was now irrevocably fixed in the theatrical profes- 
sion. His name in a play-bill operated like a charm ; 
he never appeared but he attracted full houses : and, his 
fame being now completely established, he continued, 
for a long series of years, the admiration of the public, 
and the idol of his friends ; among whom he could enu- 
merate the most distinguished in rank, consequence, and 
talents. 



DAVID GARRICK. 3()7 

His services were found so essential to the support of 
the theatre, that, in 174\T> he became joint patentee of 
Drury-lane, with Mr. Lacy. In this capacity he exert- 
ed himself to introduce order, decency, and decorum ; 
and his own example co-operated to give success to his 
endeavours. He rendered his very profession more re- 
spectable than it had ever been before, not only by his 
superior accomplishments, but by his conduct as a man. 
In two years after he became a manager, he entered 
into the nuptial state with Mademoiselle VToiette, a 
young lady of great personal beauty and elegant accom- 
plishments, who proved a mo3t affectionate .partner. 
Easy in his circumstances* happy in his connections, ad- 
mired wherever he was known, and blazoned by fame 
over Europe; after some years* assiduous application, 
he determined to visit the continent, both with a view 
to the improvement of his health, and the extension of 
his knowledge. Accordingly, In 1763, he set out on his 
travels, and was every where received with a respect due 
to his extraordinary talents as an actor, which he readily 
exhibited when properly requested. Indeed, vanity 
seems to have been a predominant part of his character; 
and he inhaled the incense of applause with as much 
rapture as if he had not been accustomed to enjoy it. 
His company was eagerly coveted by the great and the 
learned in France and Italy; and to entertain them, he 
would go through the whole circle of theatric evolutions^ 
with a rapidity unexampled, with an impressive force 
that nothing could resist. Without the least prepara- 
tion, he could assume any character, and seize on any 
passion. From the deepest tragedy to the extremes of 
comic levity he passed in an instant, and agitated every 
spectator with the passion he meant to inspire. 

He exhibited the famous dagger soliloquy from Mac- 
beth before the duke of Parma ; and had several friendly 
contests with the celebrated Mademoiselle Clairon, at 
2 Paris, 



308 DAVID GARRICK. 

Paris, for the entertainment of their mutual friends. 
But Garrick was not satisfied with the fame he justly 
received for animated and correct expression of the pas- 
sions from plays ; he convinced his auditors, that even in 
dumb show he could melt the heart. Having been an 
eye-witness of an unhappy father in France, fondling his 
child at an open window, when it sprang from his arms, 
and was dashed to pieces in the street; he recited this 
affecting incident, and threw himself into the distracted 
attitude of the parent, at the instant his darling appeared 
irrecoverably lost, with such natural expression of un- 
utterable woe, that he filled every breast with sympa- 
thetic horror, and drew forth a shower of tears. Even 
Clairon was so much affected and charmed, that, when 
she was a little recovered, by an involuntary impulse of 
applause, she caught Garrick in her arms and kissed him. 

After spending about a year and an half on the con- 
tinent, our great Roscius returned to his native land ; 
and, having derived much of his reputation from exhi- 
biting the impassioned scenes of Shakspeare, in honour 
of that immortal painter of the passions he projected a 
jubilee at Stratford, which drew together such a con- 
course of polite spectators as was scarcely ever known 
before. On this occasion, the first actor paid the homage 
of respect to the first dramatic writer that ever Britain 
produced. 

By the death of Mr. Lacy, in 1773, Garrick became 
sole manager of Drury-lane ; but age now creeping on, 
and the gout and stone frequently afflicting him, he sold 
his share of the patent three years after, and bade a final 
adieu to the stage. The two or three weeks before he 
retired, he ran through some of his principal characters, 
with undiminished spirit, and rivetted the reputation he 
had gained. The last part he performed was Felix, in 
the Wonder. When the play was ended, he stept for* 
ward, under apparently extreme emotion, and, after a. 

short 



DAVID GARKICK. 3QQ 

short struggle of nature, addressed the audience in such 
pathetic terms, as drew tears from every eye, as well as 
his own. " This," said he, " is to me a very awful mo- 
ment ; it is no less than parting for ever with those from 
whom I have received the greatest kindness and favours, 
and upon the spot where that kindness and those favours 
were enjoyed," Having concluded his impassioned 
parting harangue, in which every heart sympathized, 
he made a profound obeisance, the curtain dropt, and 
he retired amidst the regret and acclamations of the most 
brilliant audience that had ever been collected in an En- 
glish theatre. 

During the Christmas holidays of 1778, being on a 
visit with Mrs. Garrick, at the country seat of earl Spen- 
cer, he was seized with a disorder, from which having* 
partially recovered, he returned to his house in. the Adel- 
phi ; but next day he was alarmed with a stoppage of 
the urinary discharge, and the arts of medicine proving* 
ineffectual to relieve him, a stupor came on, and in- 
creased till the moment of his dissolution, which hap- 
pened four days after, without a groan. Many ©f the 
faculty attended him with affectionate assiduity,, but 
knew not what name to apply to his disorder. The day 
before he quitted the mortal stage,, seeing a number of 
gentlemen in his chamber, he asked who they were, 
Being told they were physicians, he shook his head, and 
repeated from Horatio, in the Fair Penitent, 

Another and another still- succeeds; 

And the last fool is welcome as the former. 

Considered as a dramatic writer, his fame is only sub- 
ordinate. His compositions of every kind are rather 
the temporary effusions of an elegant, playful mind,, 
than finished productions. But universal excellence is 
not the lot of man. He reached the summit of excel- 
lence as an actor ; and, what, is more to his credit, he 

performed 



400 CAPTAIN COOK, 

performed his part with respectability in private life* 
He was greedy of money and of praise ; of the former 
he, however, made a charitable use, and the latter was 
justly due to his supereminent abilities. Courted and 
flattered as he was, he must have been somewhat more 
than man to be absolutely devoid of vanity. It has been 
said of Garrick, " that he was only natural on the 
stage ;" yet his private friends loved him well, and have 
paid many honourable testimonies to his social worth. 



CAPTAIN JAMES COOK. 

Born 1728— Killed 1779. 
From 1st Gear ere II. to 19t/i George III,. 

F^ OR the present reign the glory was reserved of 
carrying the spirit of maritime enterprize to its ut^. 
most extent, and of directing it to its noblest ends — the 
enlargement of science, and the civilization of man* 
kind ; nor can the patriotic sovereign, who patronized, 
be ever viewed in this honourable light, without reflect* 
ing a lustre on the able servant who executed his designs; 
Distinguished as this country is for its illustrious naviga- 
tors, it certainly derives no small accession of fame from 
producing such a man as Cook, who, by dint of perser. 
vering diligence, and the exercise of useful talents, burst 
through the impediments of original indigence and ob- 
scurity, gained the palm of deserved celebrity, and now 
ranks high among the benefactors of mankind. 

This respectable and beloved commander was bora at 
Marton, in Cleveland, about four miles from Great Ay- 
ton, in Yorkshire. His father, who lived in the humble 
capacity of a farmer's servant, married a woman in the 
same sphere of life with himself. Botft were noted for 
honesty, sobriety, and industry, qualities which are esti- 
mable 



CAPTAIN COOK. 401 

mable in the lowest station ; and when our navigator 
was very young, his father's good character procured 
him the place of a bailiff to a gentleman at Great Ay- 
ton, whither the family removed. The son followed 
the same servile employment as far as his tender years 
would permit, and thus laid the foundation of that har- 
diness of constitution, which enabled him to fulfil his fu- 
ture destinies with comfort and satisfaction to himself. 

The early education of Cook seems to have been very 
slender; however, it was not wholly neglected. At the 
age of thirteen he was placed under the care of a writing- 
master, with whom he learned the rudiments of arith- 
metic and book-keeping ; and is said to have shewn a re- 
markable facility in acquiring the science of numbers. 

Having reached his seventeenth year, his father bound 
him apprentice to a grocer, at Snaith, a considerable fish- 
ing town. But, as he evinced a strong partiality for a 
maritime life, for which his predilection was probably 
confirmed by the situation of the place, and the prevail- 
ing taste of its inhabitants, after eighteen months' servi- 
tude he obtained a release from his engagements, and 
determined to follow the bent of his genius. 

Accordingly, in 174-6, he became an apprentice for 
three years to Messrs. Walker, of Whitby, who were en- 
gaged chiefly in the coal-trade ; and served the full term 
to the entire satisfaction of his masters. After perform- 
ing some voyages to the Baltic in the capacity of a com- 
mon sailor, Messrs. Walker, who had penetration enough 
to discover his talents and worth, appointed him mate 
to one of their ships ; and after some time made him an 
offer of the place of captain, which, fortunately for his 
country, he declined. 

Hostilities commencing between Great Britain and 
France, in 1755, Cook lying then in the river Thames, 
and finding press-warrants were issued, with the spirit 
of a man who disdained to be compelled %p serve his 

king* 



402 CAPTAIN COOK* 

king, adopted the resolution of entering as a volunteer 
in the royal navy; " having a mind," as he expressed 
himself,. " to try his fortune in that way." 

The first ship in which he served was the Eagle; and 
captain, afterwards Sir Hugh Pttlliser, being appointed 
to the command, soon recognized the diligence and at- 
tention of Cook, and granted him every encouragement 
compatible with his humble station. His friends and 
connexions, likewise, in his native county, finding his 
conduct deserving their patronage, generously interfered 
in his behalf* and, by the assistance of Mr. Osbaldes- 
ton, member for Scarborough, and the warm encomiums 
of his captain, at last procured a master's warrant to the 
Mercury, in which he sailed, under Sir Charles Saun- 
ders, to assist in the reduction of Quebec. 

The professional merit, the skill, and intrepidity of 
Cook, were now sufficiently blazoned ; and he was ap- 
pointed to take the soundings of the river St. Lawrence, 
directly opposite to the French camp ; a service as ha- 
zardous as important, but which he performed to the 
entire satisfaction of his employers'. • 

There is little reason to believe, that before this period 
Cook had used a pencil, or was acquainted with the 
principles of drawing; but such was the vigour of his 
mind, and his aptitude for the acquisition of knowledge, 
that he speedily mastered every object to which he ap- 
plied. Under every disadvantage, he furnished the ad» 
miral with a complete draught of the channel and its 
soundings ; and at once established his reputation as a 
surveyor. 

After the conquest of Canada, so honourable to every 
person who bore a part in it, he was appointed master 
of the Northumberland, under lord Colville, on the 
Nova Scotia station; where he ingratiated himself with 
his noble commander to a high degree. Sensible that 
he was now in the roa«d to promotion, he redoubled his 

ardour 



CAPTAIN COOK. 403 

ardour to quality himself for adorning every station to 
which he might be raised. He devoted his leisure 
hours to the .study of such branches of knowledge as add 
Utility to, or reflect a lustre on, naval life. He read Eu- 
clid's elements, and studied astronomy; and, by ap- 
plication and perseverance, overcame every obstacle of 
situation, and made a progress, which a man of less 
genius could never have attained, under much superior 
advantages. 

In April, 1760, he received his lieutenant's commis- 
sion, and daily advanced in the career of glory. Sti- 
mulated by the success that had attended his past la- 
bours, and animated by the.hopes of future promotion, 
he diligently applied himself to acquire a knowledge 
of the North American coast, and to facilitate its navi- 
gation. His abilities, as an accurate draughtsman, were 
now so well known, that he was employed by different 
commanders to make charts and surveys ; and the una- 
nimous voice of the best judges confirms his merit in 
this respect. 

Towards the close of 1762, he returned to England, 
and espoused a young lady of the name of Batts, whom 
he tenderly loved, and who had every claim to his 
warmest affection and esteem. It has been said, that 
Cook stood as her godfather, and had declared at that 
time his wish for their future union. If this anecdote 
be true, it shews the firmness of his character, and the 
strength of his attachment in a very amiable and con- 
spicuous point of view. His situation in life, however, 
and the high and important services to which he was 
called, did not long suffer him to enjoy connubial bliss; 
for we find him variously engaged in North America 
and the West Indies during some of the subsequent 
years. 

That our navigator had made a considerable profici- 
ency in practical astronomy before 1766, is evident from 



4(M CAPTAIN COOK. 

an " observation of an eclipse of the sun at the island 
of Newfoundland," taken that year, " with the longi- 
tude deduced from it.". This was published in the Phi- 
losophical Transactions ; and lieutenant Cook now ac- 
quired reputation for his scientific, as he had formerly 
for his professional skill. 

But we are now come to a period of Cook's life that 
requires little illustration from our pen: his services 
are well known to Europe and the world ; and in this 
place can only be summed up in a very cursory manner. 
The history of his voyages, which details his achieve- 
mentSj will be read and remembered as long as curiosity 
is an active principle of the human mind. We have 
traced the progressive steps by which this great nauti- 
cal character rose ; and it cannot fail to be consolatory 
to those, who, like him, aspire by merit to distinction, 
that the path is still open, and that honour and fame 
await the brave, the enterprizing, and the meritorious. 

The Royal Society having resolved, that it would be 
beneficial to science to send proper persons into the 
South Seas, to observe the expected transit of Venus 
over the sun's disk, lieutenant Cook, whose abilities as 
an astronomer were now well known, was not only ap- 
pointed to the command of a vessel, liberally fitted out 
by government for this purpose, but also constituted 
joint astronomer with Mr. Charles Green. The present 
illustrious Sir Joseph Banks also volunteered his ser- 
vices on this occasion, and Dr. Solander, a disciple of 
Linnaeus, added to the scientific attendants of the voy- 
age. Cook with the rank of captain, sailed down the 
river Thames, on the 30th of July, 1768, on an expe- 
dition the most honourable to his country. Seldom 
have distant regions been explored by authority, unless 
for the purposes of avarice or ambition; on this occa- 
sion, however, the thirst of knowledge was the grand 
stimulus to adventure. In the course, of the voyage*. 

captain 



CAPTAIN COOK. 405 

captain Cook visited the Society islands; determined 
the insularity of New Zealand; sailed through the 
straits which separate two islands, now called after his 
name, and made a complete survey of both. He after- 
wards explored the eastern coast of New Holland, 
hitherto unknown, and thus added an extent of more 
than two thousand miles to our geographical knowledge 
of the terraqueous globe. In this voyage, which lasted 
nearly three years, captain Cook, besides effecting the 
immediate object of his mission, made discoveries equal 
in number and importance to all the navigators of his 
own, or any other country, collectively, from the time of 
Columbus to the present. 

Soon after his return, it was determined to equip two 
ships to complete the discovery of the southern hemi- 
sphere. It had long been a prevaiftng idea among geo- 
graphers, that the unexplored part contained another 
continent, and captain Cook was again employed to 
ascertain this important point. Accordingly he sailed 
from Deptford in the Resolution, accompanied by the 
Adventure, on April 9, 1772, and effectually resolved 
the problem of a southern continent; having traversed 
that hemispliere in such a manner as not to leave a pos- 
sibility of its existence, unless near the pole, and out of 
the reach of navigation. During this expedition he dis- 
covered New Caledonia, one of the largest islands in 
the South Pacific Ocean, the island of South Georgia, 
and Sandwich-land, the Thule of the southern hemi- 
sphere; and having twice visited the tropical seas, he 
settled the positions of the former, and made several 
fresh discoveries. 

So many services performed by one man, might have 
been an honourable acquittance from further toils, and 
his country considered it in this light; but captain 
Cook, animated by the love of true glory, wished to 
complete the geography of die globe; and, having been 

consulted 



•J 00 CAPTAIN COOK, 

consulted respecting the appointment of a proper officer 
to conduct a voyage of further discovery, to determine 
the practicability of a north-west passage, he immedi- 
ately tendered his own services, which were accepted 
with all possible gratitude and acknowledgment. 

On this third, and, unhappily, his last voyage, he 
sailed in July, 1776; and besides several islands in the 
Southern Pacific, he discovered, to the north of the 
equinoctial line, the group called the Sandwich islands; 
which, from their situation and produces, bid fair to be- 
come an object of consequence in the system of Euro- 
pean navigation and commerce. After this, he proceed- 
ed on the grand object of his expedition, and explored 
what had hitherto remained unknown of the western 
coast of America, containing an extent of three thousand 
five hundred miles ; ascertained the proximity of die 
two great continents of Asia and America, passed the 
straits that divide them, and surveyed the coast on each 
side, to such a height of northern latitude, as fully de- 
monstrated the impracticability of a passage, in that he- 
misphere, from the Atlantic into the Pacific Ocean, 
either by an eastern or western course. 

After having achieved so much, it is painful to reflect 
that he did not live to enjoy the honours which would 
have been paid to his successful and meritorious labours. 
On his return, he was unfortunately cut off, in an affray 
with the natives of O'whyhee, one of the Sandwich 
islands, part of the fruits of his discoveries, and the scene 
of his meloncholy death. The loss of this estimable 
man was sincerely lamented, not only by Britain, but 
by every nation which loved science, or was capable of 
appreciating useful talents and services. The most ho- 
nourable eulogies have been paid to his memory, by 
some whose slightest praise is fame; but no panegyric 
can exceed his deserts, nor are monuments necessary to 
perpetuate his remembrance: — those he erected with 
his own hands will be eternal. 



CAPTAIN COOK. 40/ 

His character is thus drawn by his amiable coadjutor 
captain King : — s% The constitution of his body was ro- 
bust, inured to labour, and capable of undergoing the 
severest hardships. His stomach bore, without diffi- 
culty, the coarsest and most ungrateful food. Indeed, 
temperance in him was scarcely a virtue; so great was 
the indifference with which. he submitted to any kind of 
self-denial. The qualities of his mind were of the same 
hardy, vigorous kind with those of his body. His cou- 
rage was cool and determined, and accompanied with 
an admirable presence of mind In the moment of dan- 
ger. His manners were plain and unaffected. His 
temper might, perhaps, have been justly blamed as to 
hastiness and passion, had not these been disarmed by a 
disposition the most benevolent and humane. But the 
distinguishing feature of his character was unremitting 
perseverance in the pursuit of his object, which was not 
only superior to the opposition of dangers, and the pres- 
sure of hardships, but even exempt from the want of or- 
dinary relaxation." 

As a commander, his benevolent attention to the health 
of his men, and the .success which attended it, forms a dis- 
tinguished part of his praise. By the judicious methods 
he pursued, he has shewn the world, that the longest 
voyages, through every climate, may be performed with 
as little risque of life from natural causes, as under our 
native sky, and surrounded with every comfort. He 
has proved, that the scurvy, which has so frequently been 
the pest of nautical expeditions, may be avoided, or its 
ravages repelled. 1 or his easy and practicable means 
of securing the health of seamen, which he communi- 
cated to the Royal Society, the gold medal was voted to 
him, with an appropriate speech by the president, after 
his departure on his last voyage. This testimony of 
gratitude never reached his ears ; but for the services 
which obtained it, his name will descend to future ages f 
among the friends and benefactors of mankind- 



( 408 ) 
SIR WILLIAM BLACKSTONE. 

JUDGE OF THE COURT OF COMMON PLEAS. 

Born 1723— Died 1780, 

From $t/i George J. to 20th George III, 

TO be able to produce flowers in a path confessedly 
rugged, to render the driest subject not only instruc- 
tive, but inviting, implies no small share of genius and 
talents; and was reserved for Sir William Blackstone 
to perform. Before bis time, jurisprudence was stu- 
died only as qualifying for a profession, but his labours 
rendered it a classical pursuit. The illustrious Bacon 
had the glory to bring down philosophy to the level of 
common understandings, and to render her captivating ; 
Blackstone made the legal polity of his country amiable 
and popular, by the simple neatness in which he clothed 
it; and medicine in the same manner has been stripped 
of its mysterious jargon, by men to whom posterity will 
do justice, when envy sleeps with them in the grave. 

This elegant lawyer was a native of London, and 
born in Cheapside. His father was a very respectable 
citizen, but died before the birth of this his fourth son; 
his mother was of a genteel family in Wilts; but she 
too departed this life, before he could be duly sensible 
ofiiis loss. The care of his education, therefore devolv- 
ed on his maternal uncle, who placed him early at the 
Charter-house; and he was afterwards admitted on that 
excellent and liberal foundation. In this seminary he 
pursued his classical studies with uncommon assiduity 
and success, and gave indications of those talents and 
that industry which shone in his future life. When 
only fifteen years of age, he was found properly qualified 
to be removed to the university; and accordingly was 
entered a commoner of Pembroke college, Oxford, with 

a €harter* 



SIR WILLIAM BLACKSTONE. 40C) 

a Charter-house exhibition. But being at the head of 
the school, and deservedly favoured by his master, he 
was permitted to continue some months longer a 
scholar at the Charter-house, that he might have the 
honour and emolument of speaking the usual oration 
on the anniversary commemoration of the founder* 
About the same time, he obtained Mr. Benson's gold 
medal for verses on Milton; and was considered by all 
who knew him, as a very promising genius. 

Pursuing his academical studies with unremitted ar- 
dour, he soon became as much admired at the university 
as he had been at school. The Greek and Latin poets 
were his favourites ; but they did not engross all his at- 
tention. Logic, mathematics, and other sciences, were 
cultivated by the young student with diligence and ala- 
crity; and, possessing a mind formed for acute investi- 
gation, and a taste for extracting the sweets of every 
subject he studied, he converted the most dry into an 
amusement, the most abstruse he stript of its veil and 
its asperity. He evinced a particular passion for archi- 
tecture ; and when no more than twenty years of age, 
drew up the elements of that science for his own use 
only; but which was considered by judges as a presage 
of his future celebrity* 

Hitherto, however, he had been studying for orna- 
ment, or for private gratification. It now was requisite 
to determine on some profession in life, in which he 
might render his talents subservient to his advancement. 
Accordingly, he quitted the flowery paths of polite lite- 
rature, in which he had strayed with the highest intel- 
lectual delight; and, devoting himself to the study of 
the law, entered himself of die Middle Temple, in No- 
vember, 1741. On this occasion he wrote a very beau- 
tiful ode, entitled, " The Lawyer's Farewel to his Muse." 
We cannot resist the temptation of making an extract 
from this classical piece; and we regret that our limits 
do not permit us to transcribe the whole, 

S As 



410 SIR WILLIAM ELACKSTONE. 

As by some tyrant's stern command, 
A wretch forsakes his native land, 
In foreign climes condemn'd to roam, 
An endless exile from his home ; 
Pensive he treads the destnn'd way, 
And dreads to go, nor dares to stay ; 
Till on some neighboring mountain's brow 
He stops, and turns his eyes below j 
There, melting at the well-known view, 
Drops a last tear, and bids adieu : 
So I, thus doom'd from thee to part, 
Gay queen of fancy and of art, 
Reluctant move, with doubtful mind, 
Oft stop, and often look behind. 



STiakspeare, no more, thy svlvan son, 

Nor all the art of Addison, 

Pope's heav'n-strung lyre, nor Waller's ease, 

Nor Milton's mighty self, must please : 

Instead of these, a formal band, 

In furs and coifs around me stand ; 

With sounds uncouth, and accents dry, 

That grate the soul of harmony, 

Each pedant sage unlocks his, store. 

Of mystic, dark, discordant lore; 

And points, with tottering hand, the ways 

That lead me to the thorny maze. 

There, in a winding close retreat, 
Is Justice doonfd to fix her seat ; 
There, fencM by bulwarks of the law, 
She keeps the wondVing world in awe ; 
And there, from vulgar sight retir'd, 
Like Eastern queens, is more admired. 

O let me pierce the secret shade, 
Where dwells the venerable maid ! 
There humbly mark, with rev Vent awe, 
The guardian of Britannia's law 5 
Unfold with joy her sacred page, 
Th' united boast of many an age, 
Where mix'd, yet uniform appears, 
The wisdom of a thousand years-, 
In that pure spring the bottom view, 
Clear, deep, and regularly true, 



And 






SIR WILLIAM BLACKSTONE. 4 1 1 

And other doctrines thence imbibe 

Than lurk within the sordid scribe $ a. 

Observe how parts with parts unite 

In one harmonious rule of right ; 

See countless wheels distinctly tend, 

By various laws to one great end ! 

While mighty Alfred's piercing soul 

Pervades and regulates the whole. 

In 1744, Mr. Blackstone was elected a fellow of All 
Souls; and from this period divided his time between 
the college and the Temple. To the former, he per- 
formed some very essential services, and was entrusted 
with the management of its most valuable concerns. 

In Michaelmas term, 1746, he was called to the bar; 
bat possessing neither a confident eloquence, nor a 
prompt delivery, he did not make any considerable 
figure there. However, with his abilities, a patron alone 
was wanting to secure his success. His real merits were 
only known to a few : although both' solid and striking, 
they required, notwithstanding, to be set off by extrinsic 
circumstances. After attending the courts for seven 
years, and, perhaps, with as deep a knowledge of the 
laws of his country- as any counsel of his age, he found 
that, with all his diligence, and with all his merit, he 
could not open the way to fame; and having previously 
been elected recorder of Wallingford, and taken the de- 
gree of doctor in civil law, he resolved to give up the 
contest at .Westminster, and to retire to an academic 
lite, and the limited practice of a provincial counsel. 
Blackstone is not the only great lawyer who has found 
the difficulty of rising in early distinction. In all the 
professions, a young adventurer requires some adventi- 
tious helps — some lucky incident to develop e talents, or 
powerful friends to force them into notice. 

It was, however, fortunate for his fame, and we may 

add for his country, that he gained the learned leisure 

which Oxford allowed him. Having for some years 

planned his le&ures on the laws of England, he now be- 

S 2 gan 



412 SIR WILLIAM BLACKSTONE. 

gan to execute this immortal work. In 1754*, lie pub- 
lished his " Analysis/* which increased his fame as a 
legal scholar; and four years after, being elected Vine- 
rian professor of the common law, he read his celebrated 
introductory lecture, which to the purest elegance of 
diction united the most recondite knowledge of English 
jurisprudence. Every succeeding lecture increased his 
reputation ; and he became the deserved object of admi- 
ration among the legal students, and was considered as 
an ornament to the university in general. 

Being now generally known as a man of talents, in 
1759 he purchased chambers in the Temple, and made 
another effort at the bar. He, how r ever, continued to 
read his lectures at Oxford with the highest eclat; and 
they became so much talked of, that it is said the gover- 
nor of a great personage requested a copy of them for 
the use o£ his royal pupil. Be this as it may, it is cer- 
tain Dr. Blackstone was now daily advancing in fortune 
and fame. In 1761 he was returned to parliament, and 
appointed king's counsel, after refusing the office of 
chief justice of the court of common pleas in Ireland* 
The same year he married a daughter v of James Clithe- 
roe, esq. of Boston-house, in Middlesex, by whom he 
left several children ; and vacating his fellowship, the 
chancellor of the university appointed him principal of 
New-Inn-hall. The following year he was made solici- 
tor-general to the queen, and chosen a bencher of the 
Middle Temple. The celebrated " Commentaries on 
the Laws of England" began to be published in 1765, 
and were completed in the four succeeding years. The 
reputation he gained by this work was unbounded; and, 
In consequence, it was minutely criticised by such as en- 
vied his fame, or disliked some principles he had laid 
down. In a work of such a multifarious nature, it was 
impossible for tire most acute and impartial to be wholly 
exempt from error. Some passages, which had occa- 
sioned much animadversion, he softened in subsequent 

editfons; 



SIR WILLIAM BLACKSTONE. 413 

editions ; and others which had been objected to, as ini- 
mical to constitutional liberty, he left to defend them- 
selves. Mr. Christian, who has published an edition of 
this classical and standard book, points cut several in- 
accuracies; but the basis, and indeed the general execu- 
tion, must be as durable as the British constitution, of 
which it treats ; and let us add- — may both be perpetual ! 

In May, 1770, Dr. Blackstone was knighted, and ap- 
pointed a judge in the court of king's bench; and the 
following month removed to the same station in the 
common pleas. Having now obtained the summit of 
his wishes, he resigned all his other appointments, and 
fixed himself wholly in London. Though never c' 
guished as a very fluent speaker, he was justly esteemed 
an able and upright judge, and did honour to the bench. 
But he did not confine his talents entirely to his voca- 
tion: whenever his leisure permitted, he was employed 
in some plan of public utility, either enlarging the 
bounds of legal knowledge, or promoting the interest 
and welfare of society. 

A life devoted to intense study early brought upon 
him the infirmities of age. His constitution was broken 
by the gout, and nervous complaints, the effect of seden- 
tary pursuits. About Christmas, 1779, he was seized 
with an asthma, which was rendered more dangerous by 
obesity. This was partially removed ; but a stupor and 
drowsiness supervening, he. ceased to breathe about six 
weeks after, in the fifty-sixth year of his age, and was 
buried in the family vault at Wallingford. 

As a lawyer, the character and abilities of Sir Wil- 
liam Blackstone must be estimated from his works; and 
to the breasts'of the impartial we may safely commit 
his fame. " Every Englishman," says a writer who 
controverted some of his principles, " is under obliga- 
tions to him for the pains he has taken to render the 
laws of his country intelligible; and the philosopher will, 
thank him for rendering the study of them easy and en- 
gaging." S 3 



414 DR. JOHNSON. 

In private life he was truly amiable ; beloved by his 
friends for the amenity of his manners, and endeared to 
his family by the suavity of his disposition. He was a 
remarkable economist of time ; and as he disliked squan- 
dering away his own, so he was averse to waste that of 
others. In reading his lectures, it could not be remem- 
bered that he ever made his audience wait even a few 
minutes beyond the time appointed. " Melancthon," 
observes his biographer, " could not have been more 
rigid in observing the hour and minute of an appoint- 
ment. Indeed, punctuality, in his opinion, was so much 
a virtue, that he could not bring himself to think per- 
iectly well of any one who was notoriously defective in 
its practice." 



DOCTOR SAMUEL JOHNSON. 

Born 1709— Died 1784. 
From 1th Anne to ^Aih George III. 

OF this literary luminary of the eighteenth century, 
who was confessedly at the head of general lite- 
rature in a country where knowledge is very widely dif- 
fused, so much already has been written by friends and 
foes, by panegyrists and detractors, with such an ampli- 
tude of remark, and diligence of research, that the most 
industrious cannot glean a new anecdote, nor even throw 
an air of novelty on the hacknied theme. 

We shall therefore content ourselves with selecting 
some short biographical notices, and characteristic traits, 
of this profound writer, and truly good man; happy if 
we can litre the young to the study of his inestimable 
productions; happier still, if we can engage them to 
practise his virtues. The life of Johnson was a perpe- 
tual comment on the precepts he promulgated; in his 
writings we read the man, naked and exposed to the 

most 



BR. JOHNSON. 4\~) 

most incurious eye. Dignified in his mind, he scorned 
to conceal his genuine sentiments, or to wrap them in 
the veil of mystery. He spoke and wrote from his own 
impressions alone, whether right or wrong; he conceded 
nothing through complaisance, and palliated nothing 
through fear. 

Litchfield had the high honour of producing this 
prodigy in the literary world. His father was a book- 
seller there ; a profession formerly, and even now, ac- 
companied by no mean talents, and which affords con- 
siderable facilities of cultivating them. Johnson's sire 
seems neither to have been destitute of intelligence nor 
discernment; but fortune diet not smile upon his exer- 
tions, and he lost by scheming what he gained by his 
regular trade. Either from his parents, or a nurse, 
Johnson derived an unhappy scrophulotts taint, which 
disfigured his features, and affected the senses of hearing 
and seeing ; it gave, perhaps, a melancholy tinge to his 
mind, and even influenced his whole character. For this 
malady he was actually touched by queen Anne ; for 
being of a jacobitical family (and the son imbibed their 
principles), his parents had great faith in that supersti- 
tious rite. 

After acquiring the rudiments of reading under an 
old school-mistress, and an English master, who, accord- 
ing to his pupil, * published a spelling-book, and dedi- 
cated it to the universe," he was sent to the grammar- 
school at his native city, and had for his associates, Dr. 
James, the physician, Dr. Taylor, rector of Ashbourne,, 
and Mr. Hector, surgeon in Birmingham, with whom 
he contracted a particular intimacy. At school he is 
said to have been averse to study, but possessed of such 
strength of genius as rendered his tasks easy, without 
much application. Some of his exercises have acciden- 
tally been preserved, and justified the opinion of his 
father, who thought that literature was his forie y and. 
resolved to encourage it, notwithstanding the narrow- 
S A ness- 



410 DR. JOHNSON, 

ness of his own circumstances, To complete his clas- 
sical studies he was afterwards removed to Stourbridge, 
where he seems to have acted in the double capacity of 
usher and scholar. His progress at the grammar-school 
he thus described ; " At the first I learnt much in the 
school,, but little from the master ; at the last I learnt 
much from the master, but little in the school.' 3 

Having left school, he passed two years at home in 
desultory study, when he was entered as a commoner 
of Pembroke college : and, according to the testimony 
of Dr. Adams, his fellow-collegian, was the best quali- 
fied young man he had ever known admitted. He had 
not been long at the university before he had an oppor- 
tunity of displaying his poetical genius, in a Latin trans- 
lation of Pope's Messiah, which at once established his 
fame as a classical scholar 5 and for which he was com- 
plimented by the great poet on whom he had conferred 
this favour. 

But, amidst his growing reputation as a scholar, he 
. felt the penury of his circumstances insupportable. 
Humiliating as it must have been to a person of John- 
son's independent and elevated mind, his finances did 
not even enable him to make a decent appearance in 
dress, much less to defray the expence of academic insti- 
tution or elegant society. At last the insolvency of his fa- 
ther completed his distress : and he relinquished his 
prospects at the university, after a short interrupted re- 
sidence of three years. 

Returning to Litchfield, for some time he was depen- 
dent on the hospitality of benevolent friends, among 
whom was Gilbert Walmsley, whom he has immor- 
talized by his Celebration. At this period the " morbid 
melancholy" of his constitution, exacerbated by his for- 
lorn circumstances, made him fancy he was approach- 
ing to insanity, and he actually consulted a physician on 
this subject ; who found that his imagination and spirits 
alone were affected, and that his judgment was never 

more 



DR. JOHNSON. 417 

more sound and vigorous. From this malady he never 
was perfectly relieved ; and all his amusements and his 
studies were only so many temporary alleviations of its 
influence. 

Without permanent protection or provision, he gladly 
accepted the offer of the place of usher at a school at 
Market Bosworth, immediately after his father's death ; 
and his final inheritance of 20/. was the only portion 
which fell to his share. This situation he soon found 
intolerable, from the tyrannical behaviour of a patron, 
in whose house he lodged. His prospects were now 
worse than ever ; and he was obliged to the friendship 
of Mr. Hector, his former companion, who was now set- 
tled at Birmingham, for a temporary shelter from the 
storm. At this place he commenced his career as an 
author, in the service of the editor of a newspaper ; and 
here his translation of Lobo's Voyage to Abyssinia was 
published, for which he received five guineas. This 
first prosaic production of his pen, contains none of that 
characteristic style which he afterwards formed, and 
which is peculiarly his own. - 

Johnson had been early sensible of the influence of 
female charms, and, after a transient passion for Miss 
Lucy Porter,- paid his addresses to her mother, the wi- 
dow of a mercer in Birmingham, which were accepted ; 
and, in 1735, she made him happy with her hand, and 
a portion of 800/. The object of his choice was nearly 
double his age, and not the most amiable in person or 
manners ; yet Johnson said " it was a love-match on 
both sides ;" and on his part, he seems to have enter- 
tained a sincero affection for her, which did not termi- 
nate with her life. 

Being now in a state of comparative independence, 
he attempted to establish a boarding-school at Edial, 
near Litchfield ; but this scheme proved abortive for 
want of encouragement : and, in 1737, he thought of 
trying his fortune in London, the grand mart of genius 
S 5 and 



418 DK. JOHNSON. 

and industry, and where talents of every kind have the 
amplest scope and encouragement. 

Accordingly he set out, in company with Garrick, 
who had been his pupil, and now became his fellow ad- 
venturer. That two men, who afterwards rose to such 
celebrity, should be launched into life at one and the 
same time, and should not only be townsmen but friends, 
is rather a singular circumstance in the history of man- 
kind. The prospects of Johnson were certainly the most 
uninviting ; he had been already broken by disappoint- 
ments, and, besides, was a married man. The gay fan- 
cies of hope danced before the other, and his fine flow 
of animal spirits enabled him to view with unconcern 
what would have overwhelmed his associate. 

How Johnson at first employed-his talents, has not 
been distinctly ascertained ; it appears, however, that he 
had been in previous correspondence with Mr. Cave, 
the proprietor of the Gentleman's Magazine, and for 
some years after he settled in the metropolis, he derived 
his principal support from the part he took in that pub- 
lication. After a few months trial, in which he might 
pbssibly feel his strength and enlarge his connections, he 
returned to Litchfield for a short space ; and having 
now finished his tragedy of Irene, which had long em- 
ployed his attention, he finally fixed himself in London 
with his wife, who had hitherto been left in the coun- 
try. 

The poor pittances that can be allowed to a mere 
contributor to a periodical work, however respectable, 
cannot be supposed adequate to supply the wants of 
an individual, much less those of a family. Johnson 
laboured under the utmost pecuniary distress ; and 
meeting with Savage, a man of genius, equally unfor- 
tunate, the tie of common misery endeared them to each 
other. He offered his tragedy to the stage, but it was 
rejected ; his exquisite poem, entitled " London," imi- 
tated from Juvenal, with difficulty he could get accept- 
ed 



DR. JOHNSON. 41 Q 

ed for publication. No sooner, however, was it read 
than admired ; and if it was not a source of greaf emo- 
lument, it certainly made Johnson known as an author 
by profession, and facilitated the acceptance of other 
performances with which, in the sequel, he favoured the 
world. 

Still his generous mind revolted at the idea of a pre- 
carious dependence on the profits of authorship ; and 
he endeavoured, but in vain, to obtain the mastership 
of the grammar-school of Appleby, in Leicestershire.. 
Pope, unknown and unsolicited, wished to serve him in 
this affair ; but the qualifying degree could not be ob- 
tained, and the business was dropped. Again he made 
another effort to be admitted at Doctors' Commons ; 
but here too a degree was indispensable; and being 
thus frustrated in every attempt at meliorating his situ- 
ation, he began to acquiesce in the drudgery of author- 
ship, and seems to have adopted the resolution of at- 
tempting to write himself into notice, by an attack 
upon government. His " Marmor Norfolscience" was- 
published to vent his spleen against the Brunswick suc- 
cession, and the adherents and ministers of that illus- 
trious family. Ir gratified his own political prejudices* . 
and gained him the favour of men of similar prin- 
ciples ; but, according to one of his biographers, ex-* 
him to the danger of a prosecution. 

Passing over that checquered scene of his4ife, in which 
he may be designated as the stipendiary of Cave, we 
come to a period when he soared to a higher flight in 
literature ; and fully confident of his own powers, which 
had gradually been developed and slowly rewarded, 
assumed the rank in the republic of letters* to which he. 
had long been eminently entitled. 

In 174-9, we find him engaged as a critic and com- 
mentator on Shakspeare, (who. like Homer, has given 
sustenance to numbers); and publishing the plan of his- 
great English di&icnary, addressed to Lord Chester- 
S 6 field,- 



420 BR. JOHNSON. 

field, in a strain of dignified compliment. The original 
hint of this great work is said to have been suggested by 
Dodsley; and that respectable literary character and 
bookseller, with several others of the profession, con- 
tracted for its execution, at the price of 1500 guineas. 

His friend Garrick, by his transcendent theatrical abi- 
lities, had now raised himself to the situation of joint 
patentee and manager of Drury-lane theatre ; and under 
his patronage, the long dormant tragedy of Irene was 
brought upon the stage. But the pompous phraseology 
and brilliant sentiments of Johnson were not colloquial 
enough for the drama. He displayed more art than na- 
ture, more description than pathos, and, -consequently, 
his tragedy was but coolly received by the public. The 
author, however, had sense enough to perceive that his 
talents did not lie this way : he acquiesced in the deci- 
sion of the public, and ceased to waste his time and la- 
bour on a species of composition for which nature had 
not adapted him. 

During the time that he was engaged on his diction- 
ary, to relieve the tedium of uniform attention to one 
object, he brought out his Rambler ; a work which con- 
tains the purest morals and justest sentiments, and on 
which alone his reputation as a fine writer and a good 
man may safely be rested. At first, however, it was far 
from being popular; but Johnson persevered with a 
laudable fortitude, conscious of its merits; and he had 
afterwards the felicity to see it run through many edi- 
tions, and even to be translated into foreign languages^ 

Soon after those excellent essays were closed, he lost 
h's wife; an event which threw him into the greatest 
affliction. His friends, in general, from the character 
and behaviour of the woman, were not a little disposed 
to ridicule what in many would have been deemed a 
feigned sorrow : but that Johnson felt all the poignancy 
of sincere grief is evident from his commemorating the 
day of her death, till his own, as a kind of religious fast. 

His 



DR. JOHNSON". 421 

His dictionary was now about to appear; and lord 
Chesterfield, sensible of neglecting the person who had, 
in the first instance, claimed the honour of his patronage, 
paved the way for its favourable reception with the pub- 
lic, by two essays in the " World,*' expressly devoted 
to its praise. His lordship, no doubt, expected that 
launching those " two little cock-boats," as Johnson 
contemptuously termed them, to assist him when he was 
now in port, would obliterate the remembrance of past 
neglect, and procure him the immortal honour of a de- 
dication. But the dignified lexicographer saw through 
the artifice; and in a letter, couched in terms respectful 
in form but cutting in their essence, rejected the ad- 
vances of his 'lordship; and thereby afforded a noble 
lesson to ungracious patrons and insulted authors. After 
some expressions of general acknowledgment, Johnson 
proceeds in this sarcastic strain : 

" Seven years, my lord, have now passed since I 
waited in your outward rooms, or was repulsed from 
your door ; during which time I have been pushing on 
my work through difficulties of which it is useless to 
complain, and have brought it at last to the verge of 
publication, without one ad of assistance, one word of 
encouragement, or one smile of favour. Such treatment 
I did not expect, for I never had a patron before. 

" Is not a patron, my lord, one who looks with uncon- 
cern on a man struggling for his life in the water, and 
when he has reached ground, encumbers him with help? 
The notice which you have been pleased to take of my 
labours, had it been early, would have been kind; but 
it has been delayed till I am indifferent, and cannot en- 
joy it ; till I am solitary, and cannot impart it ; till I am 
known, and do not want it. I hope, therefore, it is* no 
very cynical asperity, not to confess obligations where 
no benefit has been received, or to be unwilling that the 
public should consider me as owing that to a patron, 
which Providence has enabled me to do for myself. 5 ' 

This 



422 DR. JOHNSON. 

This stupendous monument of labour, talents, and 
genius was published in May, 1755; and his amiable 
friend, Mr. Warton, procured him the degree of master 
of arts to grace the title-page. Notwithstanding a few 
risible blunders, which Johnson had anticipated, might 
exist, it was instantly received with gratitude and con- 
gratulation ; and though the labour of an individual, it 
was deservedly compared with the united efforts of the 
forty French academicians, who had produced a similar 
work. To this, his friend Garrick alludes in a compli- 
mentary epigram which concludes with this couplet : 

And Johnson well arnVd, like a hero of yore, 
Has beat forty French, and will beat forty more ! 

But, though Johnson had now reared his fame on an 
adamantine base, and was flattered by the great, and 
listened to by the learned, he was not able to emerge 
from poverty and dependence. It is upon record, that 
he was arrested for a paltry debt of five guineas in the 
following year, and obliged to his friend Mr. Samuel 
Richardson for his emancipation. By the labours of his 
pen he was barely able " to provide for the day that was 
passing over his head." His Idler produced him a. 
temporary supply; and Rasselas, which he composed 
with unexampled rapidity, to discharge some debts left 
by his mother, who died in extreme old age, sold for 100/. 

At last, in 1762, royal munificence raised him above 
the drudgery of an author by profession, and fixed him 
in the enjoyment of learned ease, or voluntary labour. 
He received a pension of 300/. a year, as a reward for 
his past productions, which had been so honourable to 
his country, and useful to mankind ; without the least 
stipulation in regard to the future application of his pen 
or his talents. For this patronage he was indebted to a 
family for whom he had shewn no affection ; and to the 
generous recommendation of two men %& whose country 
he had contracted a singular antipathy. The present 

lord 



DR. JOHNSON. 423 

lord Loughborough, lord high chancellor of Great Bri- 
tain, and lord Bute, were the organs and the origin of 
his Majesty's bounty. Against lord Bute, in particular, 
he had joined in the popular cry of indiscriminating in- 
vective ; and thus even-handed justice compelled him to 
an awkward, though not unpleasant penance, for in- 
dulging in a splenetic prejudice, equally unworthy of a 
scholar and a gentleman. 

On becoming a pensioner, a word which he had en- 
deavoured to render odious, by the explanation affixed 
to it, he was exposed, as may naturally be imagined, to 
the invective or the raillery of his literary opponents; 
but it must be allowed that a pension was never better 
bestowed; nor did the future conduct: of Johnson dis- 
grace his former principles. He did, indeed, on several 
subsequent occasions espouse the cause of government 
as a party writer, but it was only when the subject cor- 
responded with his political creed, or when his natural 
and unbiassed sentiments of right drew him into the 
field of contest. 

Being now in possession of fame and a moderate inde- 
pendence, he gave full scope to the natural philanthropy 
of his heart, and extended his beneficence to the less 
favoured, and the less fortunate. The circle of his ac- 
quaintances was enlarged, and he toook peculiar delight 
in, " the literary club," which he had contributed to 
establish, and which met weekly at the Turk's Head, in 
Gerrard Street, Soho. 

The year 1765 brought him several honours and ad- 
vantages. The university of Dublin complimented 
him with the degree of Doctor of Laws ; and he had the 
felicity, about the same time, to contract an acquaintance 
with the family of Mr. Thrale, in which he afterwards 
spent the happiest hours of his life. The same year he 
had the honour of an interview with his majesty, in the 
queen's library. The king asked him, H if he intended 
to publish any more works?" Johnson modestly answer- 
ed. 



424 BR. JOHNSON'. 

ed, "that he thought he had written enough.'' " And 
so should I too," replied the king, " if you had not 
written so well." 

No author ever received ajuster compliment from 
royalty, and Dr. Johnson seems to have been duly sen- 
sible of it. But compliment now was the natural incensa 
which he expected; and for many years before his death, 
he received that unqualified praise from the world, 
which is seldom paid before the grave. His fame was 
too well established in the public opinion to be shaken 
by obloquy, or sharedby a rival ; his company was uni- 
versally courted ; his peculiarities were overlooked or 
forgotten in the admiration of his superior talents : and 
his foibles lost in the blaze of virtues. His views ex- 
panding with his situation, it is said, that he had the 
ambition even of procuring a seat in parliament: but 
in this he failed, and perhaps justly; for, it is probable, N 
he would have been too dogmatical in the senate, and> 
too impatient of contradiction, to observe the. decorum 
of debate. 

In autumn, 1773> he made a tour into Scotland, in: 
company with his friend Mr. Boswell : and his observa- 
tions, which he published soon after, evinced great 
strength of mind, great knowledge of mankind, and no 
inconsiderable share of that prejudice which he had in- 
dulged against the Scotch, till it had become involun- 
tary. His remarks on Ossian involved him in an angry 
dispute with Mr. Macpiierson, to whom he addressed a 
letter in the warmest style of contemptuous hauteur. 
" Any violence offered to me," said the indignant John- 
son, " I shall do my best to repel; and what I cannot 
do for myself, the lav/ shall for me. I hope I shall never 
be deterred from detecting what I think a cheat, by the 
menaces of a ruffian." 

The personal prowess, indeed, of Johnson had not 
been small. On a former occasion he knocked down 
Qsborne the bookseller, who had been insolent to him; 

and 



DR. JOHNSON. 42*9 

and he now provided himself with an oak plant, which 
might have served as the rafter of a house, to protect 
himself from the expected fury of the translator of 
Ossian. 

In 1775, he visited France in company with Mr. and 
Mrs. Thrale. The natives, it seems, were lost in asto- 
nishment at the contemplation of his figure, his manners, 
and his dress, which probably reminded them of an an- 
cient cynic philosopher risen from his grave. The same 
year his Alma Mater conferred on him the degree of 
doctor of laws, by diploma, the highest honorary com- 
pliment which she can bestow. 

In 1777, he undertook the lives of the English poefs, 
which he completed in 1781. H Some time in March," 
says he in his meditations, " I finished the lives of the 
poets, which I wrote in my usual way, dilatorily and 
hastily ; unwilling to work, but working with vigour 
and haste. " Though now upwards of seventy years of 
age, in this last great work, which is a most correct spe- 
cimen of literary biography, he betrays no decline of 
powers, no deficiency of spirit. If his criticisms are 
not always strictly just, if his strictures appear some- 
times tinged with dogmatism and prejudice, justice must 
allow, that he has performed much which demands un- 
qualified praise. 

The palsy, asthma, and incipient dropsy, soon after 
began to shew that he was verging to his dissolution. 
Though truly religious, though the Scriptures had been 
his study and the rule of his conduct, he contemplated 
his end with fear and apprehension ; hut, when the last 
struggle approached, he summoned up the resolution 
of a Christian, and on the 13th of December, 1784, died, 
full of hope, and strong in faith. His remains were in- 
terred in Westminster abbey; and a monument has since 
been erected to his memory in St. Paul's cathedral, with 
an appropriate Latin inscription, by the learned Dr. 
Parr. His collected works were published in eleven vo- 
lumes, 



&25 BISHOP LOWTHi 

lumes, octavo, by his friend Sir John Hawkins ; and 
another and more perfect edition, in twelve volumes, by 
Arthur Murphy, esq. 



o 



ROBERT LOWTH, 

BISHOP OFLONDON, 

Born 1710— Died 1787. 

From 8tA of Anne to 27 th George III. 

FTEN has the mitre of the see of London been 
placed on unsullied brows, but seldom has it fallen 
to the lot of a man, whom delicacy permits us now to 
name, that united so rare an assemblage of all that was 
good in the Christian, and great in the scholar, as Ro- 
bert Lowth. 

This illustrious prelate was the son of William Lowth* 
prebendary of Winchester; and was born in that city* 
in 1710. His father was eminent as a scholar, but still 
more distinguished as a pious and worthy man ; so that 
the virtues and talents of his offspring might well be 
considered as hereditary ; only that a double portion of 
the father's spirit rested on the son. 

At the celebrated seminary of Winchester, founded by 
William of Wykeham, he received his grammatical edu- 
cation; and, some time before he left school, he dis- 
played his genius and taste by some beautiful compo- 
sitions. His poem on the " Genealogy of Christ," as 
painted on the window of Winchester college chapel, 
first made him known in the train of the Muses ; and 
this was followed by another on " Catherine Hill," the 
scene of youthful pastime to the Wykehamites I a sub- 
ject, which must have been endeared to Lowth by the 
recollection of many a happy hour spent there, devoid of 
ambition and of care. 

His scholastic attainments, however, were not con- 
fined 



bishop lowth: 427 

fined to poetry. Though the relief of severer studies, 
to which purpose the greatest and the best of men have 
frequently employed it, his attention was not diverted 
from those more serious pursuits which are requisite to 
complete the character of the scholar. He not only ac- 
quired a critical knowledge of the Latin and Greek 
classics, but he superadded an uncommon acquaintance 
with Oriental literature; which, opening the treasures 
of sacred lore, attracted, and fixed his attention on bibli- 
cal criticism, in which he afterwards shone with un- 
rivalled lustre. 

From Winchester he removed to New-college, Ox- 
ford ; and in due course became a fellow upon that 
foundation, which he vacated, in the twenty-second year 
of his age, by marrying a lady of Christ-church, in 
Hampshire. 

Such an early engagement, interrupting the course 
of academic studies too soon, might have been fatal to 
the prospects of a man whose attainments were less ma- 
ture, and whose manners were less calculated to attract 
admiration and gain patronage. To the highest lite- 
rary accomplishments he joined those amiable external 
graces which adorn the character of the gentleman, and 
the duke of Devonshire had the good sense to recog- 
nize and reward them, by appointing him tutor to die 
marquis of Harrington ; with whom he made the tour 
of Europe, and discharged the important function in 
such a manner, as secured him the future pi'otection of 
that noble family. 

Having taken the degree of master of arts in 1737, 
he was appointed professor of Hebrew in the university 
of Oxford four years afterwards; when he delivered 
his admirable lectures on the sacred poetry of the He- 
brews ; which place him in the first rank of eminence as 
a sacred critic. 

It was the good fortune of Lowth to obtain the pa* 
tronage ofHoadly, bishop of Winchester, at an early 

period 



428 BISHOP LOWTH. 

period of his life ; and to this amiable and able prelate 
he was indebted for his first preferment, the rectory of 
Overton, and afterwards of East Woodhay, both in 
Hampshire. The same zealous patron also appointed 
him archdeacon of Winchester in 1750: and, being 
now in the high road to preferment by the kindness of 
Providence and the regard of his friends, his own me- 
rit rendered his future promotion neither doubtful nor 
distant. 

In 1754, he obtained the degree of doctor in divinity 
by diploma, from his Alma Mater; and the following 
year, on the appointment of his noble pupil, the marquis 
of Hartington, to the lord lieutenancy of Ireland, Dr. 
Lowth, in quality of first chaplain, accompanied him-; 
and soon after was offered the bishopric of Limerick. 
But the attractions of a mitre in the sister kingdom 
were at that time less powerful than the endearments 
of family connections, and literary pursuits, in his' native 
country ; and Tie exchanged the see for a prebend o£ 
Durham, and the rectory of Sedgefield in that diocese. 

In 1758, Dr. Lowth preached a visitation-sermon be- 
fore the bishop of Durham, which was afterwards print- 
ed, and has been much admired for the liberal spirit 
which it breathes. A few short extracts, as developing 
the sentiments of such an eminent man at that period of 
his life, cannot be improperly introduced. - " Christia- 
nity," observes this eloquent preacher, " was published 
to the world in the most enlightened age ; it invited 
and challenged the examination of the ablest judges, 
and stood the test of the severest scrutiny ; the more it 
is brought to the light, to the greater advantage will it 
appear. When, on the other hand, the dark ages of 
barbarism came on, as every art and science was almost 
extinguished, so w r as- Christianity in proportion oppress- 
ed and overwhelmed by error and superitition, and they 
that pretended to defend it from the assaults of its ene- 
mies, by prohibiting examination and free inquiry, 
7 took 



BISHOP LOWTH, 42Q 

took the surest method of cutting off all hopes of its re- 
covery. Again, when letters revived, and reason re- 
gained her liberty ; when a spirit of inquiry began to 
prevail, and was kept up and promoted by a happy in- 
vention, by which the communication of knowledge 
was wonderfully facilitated ; Christianity immediately 
emerged out ofldarkness, and was, in a manner, repub- 
lished to the world in its native simplicity. It has al- 
ways flourished or decayed together with learning and 
liberty: it will ever stand or fall with them. Let no 
man be alarmed at the attempts of atheists or infidels ; 
let them produce their cause; let them bring forth their 
strong reasons, to their own confusion; afford them not 
the advantage of restraint, the only advantage which 
their cause permits of; let them not boast the false cre- 
dit of supposed arguments, and pretended demonstra- 
tions, which they are forced to suppress. What has 
been the consequence of all that licentious contradiction, 
with which the gospel has been received in these our 
times, and in this nation? Hath it not given birth to 
such irrefragable apologies, and convincing illustrations 
of our most holy religion, as no other age or nation ever 
produced? — Where freedom of inquiry is maintained 
and exercised under the direction of the sincere word of 
God, falsehood may, perhaps, triumph for a day, but 
to-morrow truth will certainly prevail, and every suc- 
ceeding day will confirm her superiority." 

To controvert the opinions of such an eminent divine, 
may appear arrogance ; but we cannot help observing, 
that an unlimited right of discussion in vernacular lan- 
guage, is not, perhaps, unattended with danger. Where 
the genuine love of truth is the object of pursuit, God 
forbid that the liberty of the press should ever be re- 
strained; but where cavils are raised merely to entrap 
the ignorant, and objections, a thousand times refuted, 
are vamped up anew to poison the unreflecting ; a wise 
man will pause before he gives his assent to unrestrain- 
ed 



430 BISHOP BOWTH. 

ed discussion, a good man will hesitate to indulge it. 
The fame of Dr. Lowth, as an elegant writer, and a 
biblical critic, was now supreme. Utility or ornament 
were conspicuous in all his publications, from his " Lec- 
tures on the Sacred Poetry, of the Hebrews," to his 
" Short Introduction to English Grammar ;" and truth 
was adorned with all the embellishments of diction, and 
all the force of argument. His " Life of William of 
Wykeham," the founder of the college in which he had 
received his education may be considered as a tribute 
of gratitude to the memory of that beneficent patron of 
literature, and will exalt the character of the person, who 
paid it, in the estimation of every man of moral senti- 
ment. His controversy with Warburton, bishop of 
Gloucester, was carried on with liberality and some 
smart raillery on his part; but Warburton, though a 
strenuous and real defender of Christianity, could never 
dispute without indulging a spirit of acrimony. 

Dr. Lowth was raised to the mitre in 1766, and was 
consecrated bishop of St. David's ^ but a few months 
after was translated to the see of Oxford, and, in 1777t 
to that of London, his last remove, except to eternity. 

The year after he entered on the bishopric of London, 
he published his " New Translation of Isaiah," with a 
preliminary dissertation, and a variety of learned notes. 
No person then existing was better qualified for this ar- 
duous task, and no one could have executed that task 
better. His previous acquirements, great as they were, 
undoubtedly were all called into action on this occasion ; 
and the learned from every part of Europe have re- 
echoed the applauses of his countrymen, on the execu- 
tion of this elaborate work, which will transmit his name 
with honour to remote posterity. 

Amidst the unclouded sunshine of prosperity, the best 
qualities of the heart are frequently obscured. It is 
affliction that tries our faith* and improves our virtues. 
After bishop Lowth had risen to deserved preferment, 

and, 



BISHOP fcoWTH: 431 

and, In point of temporal good, could have no more to 
ask, it pleased the Supreme Dispense^ of all, to exercise 
his patience by some of the severest trials that human 
nature can undergo. As he advanced in years, he was 
harassed by a cruel and incurable disorder, and to aggra- 
vate his calamity he suffered some of the most afflictive 
dispensations of Providence. Hrs eldest daughter, of 
whom he was passionately fond, had been carried off 
by a premature fate, and on her tomb he engraved his 
affection. The classical scholar will read these very 
beautiful Latin lines with a plaintive pleasure ; the 
English reader will not be displeased with the transla- 
tion subjoined, though far inferior to the graces of the 
original : 

Cara, vale ! ingenio prsstans, pietate, pudore, 
Etplusquam natac nomine cara, vale! 

Cara Maria, vale ! at veniet felicius asvum, 
Quando tierum tecum, sim modo dignus, ero. 

"Cara, redi 5" laita turn dicam voce, " paternos 
€i Eja age in amplexus, cara Maria ! redi." 

Dearer than daughter, parallePd by few 

In genius, goodness, modesty— adieu ! 

Adieu ! Maria, till that day more blest, 

When, if deserving, I with thee shall rest. 

<c Come," then thy sire will cry, in joyful strain, 

4( O ! come to my paternal arms again \* 

The loss of his second daughter was most impressive- 
ly awful. As she was presiding at his tea-table, and 
was going to place a cup of coffee on the salver, " Take 
this," said she, " to the bishop of Bristol." Immedi- 
ately the cup and her hand dropped on the salver, and 
she expired without a groan 

The venerable bishop bore all with pious resignation, 
and his character gained new lustre from his christian 
magnanimity. Before this last stroke, he had been of- 
fered the primacy, on the death of archbishop Corn- 
wallis ; but he was already weaned from the pursuits 
of ambition, though he continued to perform the duties 

of 



432 JOHN HOWARD. 

of his station with exemplary prudence and propriety. 
At last, in 1787, he was released from " the burden of 
the flesh ;V and left this world in " the sure and certain 
hope of a better." 

To the public chara6ler of bishop Lowth, we are 
sorry that it is not in our power to add more numerous 
private details, because we are persuaded they would 
be instructive. His learning and taste are abundantly 
exemplified in his works. He loved the arts with enthu- 
siasm, and possessed a truly poetical imagination* His 
conversation was elegance, suavity and unaffe<5ted ease. 
In his temper, he is said to have felt that warmth of 
susceptibility, which is the constant concomitant of 
genius; and his disposition is pourtrayed as more in- 
clinable to the serious than the gay. 

He was of the middle stature, and extremely well pro- 
portioned. His complexion was fair and florid, and his 
whole aspeft remarkably animated and expressive. He 
left a son of the same name, and a daughter; and was 
privately interred in a vault of Fulham church. 



JOHN HOWARD, 

Born 1726— Died 1790. 

From \2th George L to 20th George III. 

And now, Philanthropy ! thy rays divine 
Dart round the globe from Zembla to the Line $ 
O'er each dark prison plays the cheering light, 
Like northern lustres o^r the vault of night. 
From realm to realm with cross or crescent crowrTd, 
Where'er mankind and misery are found, 
O'er burning sands, deep waves, or wilds of snow, 
Thy Howard journeying seeks the house of woe. 
Down many a winding step to dungeons dank, 
Where anguish wails aloud, and fetters clank, 
To caves bestrewM with many a mouldering bone, 
And cells, whose echoes only learn to groan ; 
Were no kind bars a whispering friend disclose, 
No sunbeam enters, and no zephyr blows, 
He tread*, inemulous of fame or wealth, 
Profuse of toil 5 and prodigal of health, 

With 



JOHN HOWARD 433 

With soft assuasive eloquence expands 
Power's rigid heat, and opes his clinching hands, 
Leads stern-ey'd Justice to the dark domains, 
If not to S3ver, to relax the ehaiis, 
Or-gukles avraken ? d Mercy through the gloom, 
And shews the prison sister to the tomb ! — 
Gives to her babes the self-devoted wife, 
To her fond husband liberty and life! — 
— The spirits of the good, who bend from high 
Wide o'er these earthly scenes their partial eye, 
When first, array 'd in Virtue's purest robe, 
They saw her Howard traversing the globe^ 
Saw round her brows her sun-Hke glory blaze, 
In arrow) circles of, unwearied lays; 
Mistook a mortal for an angel-guest, 
1 And ask'd what seraph-foot tke earth imprest. 
Onward he moves ! — Disease and death retire; 
And murmuring demons hate him and admire. 

Darwin. 

JOHN Howard, the great philanthropist, who, copy* 
ing the divine example of Christ, went about doing 
g W, was born at Hackney. His father was very re- 
spectably connected ; but, engaging in trade, kept a 
warehouse in Long-lane, Smithrleld ; and dying early, 
left him under the care of guardians. Not being in- 
tended for a learned profession, he received only an or- 
dinary edu ation ; but the strength of his mind, and 
the steadiness of his perseverance, made up the deficien- 
cy ; and, if he could not be ranked among scholars, he 
wrote in his native tongue on subjects which have gained 
him a j uster reputation than the mere linguist can ever 
•expect. 

Concerning the early habits of John Howard, though 
his character has been so minutely scrutinized, we know 
very little. The marked propensities of the mind, how- 
ever, appeared at very different periods, accordingly as 
occasion called them into action. This will be illus- 
trated in the subsequent memoirs. 

Howard, having, in the opinion of his guardians, ac- 
quired a proper education for the trade to which they 
had destined him, was apprenticed to an eminent whole- 
sale grocer in London, but, the delicacy of his constitu- 
T tion 



434 JOHN HOWARD. 

tion proving unequal to the toils of a laborious business, 
and the circumstances in which his father had left him 
and an only' sister, rendering it unnecessary for him to 
persevere in trade to the injury of his health, he bought 
out the last part of his indentures, and made a tour on 
the continent. 

On his return, he took lodgings at Stoke Newington, 
at the house of Mrs Lardeau, a sensible, worthy good 
woman, but an invalid for many years. She had felt 
the misery of ill health herself, and she sympathized 
with others. Howard's constitution was not yet con- 
firmed or recovered from the effects of confinement dur- 
ing his apprenticeship ; and in his landlady he met with 
a tender and attentive nurse, influenced by sympathy or 
benevolence alone. At length, her assiduities conquer- 
ed his heart ; and though old enough to be his mother, 
and broken by infirmities, he made her a tender of his 
hand. The good woman, who, it seems, had entertain- 
ed no views of this nature, and perhaps was surprized 
at the offer, expostulated with him on the extravagance 
of such an union; but it was not the character of Mr. 
Howard to be deterred from his purpose, by the dread 
of obloquy or ridicule; and she became his wife in 1752, 
while he generously bestowed the small fortune which 
she possessed on her sister: a proof that interest had no 
share in the match. 

During his residence at Stoke Newington, he spent 
his time chiefly in improving his mind, and enlarging his 
acquaintance with books. Enthusiastic in all his pur- 
suits, he was seldom frustrated in his aims; and he laid 
In a very considerable stock of knowledge, moral, reli- 
gious, and scientific. It is said, that he frequently rode 
out with a book in his pocket, turned his horse to graxe 
on a common, and, when the reason permitted, read se- 
veral hours with ardour. He, unquestionably, had 
what may be called eccentricities: no man, perhaps, 
of quick sensibility or genius is devoid of some ; but his 

v were 



JOHN HOWARD. 435 

were all of the most amiable complexion, and he had 
seldom reason to blush for them. 

After about three years' cohabitation, his wife died; 
and left him a sorrowful widower. About this time, 
his philosophical attainments procured him the honour 
of being elected a fellow of the Royal Society; and 
being now disengaged from domestic cares, he formed 
the resolution of visiting Lisbon, then become the ob- 
ject of melancholy attraction by the recent earthquakes. 
His friends strenuously dissuaded him from this design, 
on account of the risque which he ran of being captured 
by the French, with 'whom we were then at war; but 
their remonstrances were ineffectual, and the conse- 
quence was as had been predicted; the ship in which 
he sailed was taken by "one of the enemy's privateers, 
and he was soon after lodged in a French prison. He 
was now experimentally convinced of the miseries of 
confinement; the latent sympathies of his soul were ex- 
cited; and the future direction of his time and his ta- 
lents/which has gained him immortal fame, was pro- 
bably owing, in a great measure, to this personal mis- 
fortune. In his " State of the Prisons, he says, " per- 
haps, what I suffered on this occasion, increased, if it 
did not call forth my sympathy with the unhappy peo~ 
T;le whose cause is the subject of this book." 

Soon after his liberation, he settled at Brokenhurst, 
near Lymtngton, in a most retired and delightful situa- 
tion; and here, in 1758, he espoused Harriot, only 
daughter of Edward Leeds, esq. of Croxton, in Cam- 
bridge-hive. The pleasures of domestic endearment, 
and those avocations which are peculiar to rural life, 
seem to have occupied the principal share of his at- 
tention for some succeeding years; but, his lady dying 

in childbed, of an only son, in 176.5, he was again a 
widower, and, relinquishing his sweet retirement in the 
New Forest, he purchased an estate at Cardington, near 
Bedford, in the vicinity of his relation, Mr. -Whitbread; 
and there he determined to settle. 

T 2 Tkc 



436 JOHN" HOWARD. 

The philanthropy of his disposition now began to 
display itself by numerous ac"ts of pure benevolence. 
He projected many improvements of his domain; as 
much to give employment to the poor, as to gratify his 
own taste ; he built cottages for some, and others he 
clothed. Industry and sobriety, however, were the only 
passports to his favour; and thus, in a moral, as well 
;ds a charitable view, his eonchnS became exemplary. 

Jie had been brought up among the dissenters, and to 
their communion he strictly adhered ; but his benevo- 
lence was neither confined to sect, nor warped by party. 
Howeyer, it is natural to suppose, that the dissenters 
were not a little attached to such an amiable member of 
their society-; and, on their interest, he was afterwards, 
in 1774-j an unsuccessful candidate, as a representative 
for the borough of Bedford. In conjunction with Mr. 
Whitbread, who was also a candidate, he petitioned 
against the return ; but, though it was amended, by 
declaring his associate duly elected, Mr. Howard found 
his prospects delusive, and turned his ambition into an- 
other channel, where there were no competitors, and 
his praise Would be single and undivided. 

Before he had aspired to a seat in the senate, he had 
served the office of high sheriff for the county of Bed- 
ford, which, as he emphatically observes, " brought the 
distress of prisoners more immediately under his notice. " 
and this, reviving the idea of his own captivity, led him- 
to form the benevolent design of visiting all the prisons, 
and places of confinement, throughout England, for the 
celestial purpose of alleviating the miseries of the suf- 
ferers, and meliorating their condition. This project, 
which gave full latitude to the .philanthropy of his heart, 
he accomplished with indefatigable zeal ; and, being -ex- 
amined before the house of commons on the subject of 
prisons, he received the thanks of the senate for his 
exertions; and had the felicity to find that his voluntary 
labours had not been wholly in -vain, as they excited the 

attention 



JOHN HOWARD. 437 

attention of the legislature, and were, in some measure, 
productive of the benefits proposed by them. 

To a man of Mr. Howard's enthusiasm, a stimulus 
was scarcely necessary to do good 5 but the encourage- 
ment which he received, operated like a cordial on his 
mind ; and, having again and again inspected the recep- 
tacles of crime, of poverty, and misery, throughout 
Great Britain and Ireland, he extended his views to fo- 
reign countries. With this design, so beautifully pour- 
trayed in the introductory lines, which will be more du- 
rable than his monument, he travelled three times 
through France, four through Germany, live through 
Holland, twice through Italy, once through Spain and 
Portugal, and also through Denmark, Sweden, Russia, 
Poland, and part of Turkey. These excursions occu- 
pied, with some short intervals of rest at home, the pe- 
riod of twelve years; and never before was such a con- 
siderable portion of an individual^ life applied to a 
more benevolent and laudable purpose, without a motive 
of interest or pleasure, save the virtuous satisfaction of 
serving his fellow creatures. 

His u State of the Prisons in England and Wak@£* 
with preliminary observations, and an account of seme 
Foreign Prisons," was first published in 1777; and in 
" Appendixes/' he continued his remarks on the coun% 
tries which he visited in succession. Such an aggregate 
of private misery, of insensibility in gaolers, and neglect 
or cruelty in magistrates, was never before exhibited to 
the commiseration or abhorrence of mankind. It has 
been said, that his personal safety was endangered in 
France by the spirit with which he exposed its despo- 
tism; but subsequent inquiries shew, that even the most 
active ministers of arbitrary power were impressed with 
a reverential regard for the character of the man ; and 
that it never was in contemplation to interrupt him in 
his laudable pursuits. 

By his sister, who died unmarried, he gained a liberal 
T 3 accession 



438 JOHN HOWARD. 

accession of fortune; which, in his own opinion, could 
not be spent to a better purpose, than in the relief of 
poignant misery, shut up from every eye, except that of 
tne most active benevolence. Though the selfish and 
uncharitable have attempted to blame the profusion of 
his bounty, when it is considered, that his only son was 
abundantly provided for, it is impossible to fix any 
charge of this nature on Mr. Howard, which will not 
recoil on his detractors. But the purest conduct must 
not expect to escape the tongue of malice; superior ex- 
cellence is the butt at which obloquy constantly aims 
her darts. 

While engaged on one of his last peregrinations of 
love and charity to the human race, his singular worth 
had made such an impression on the public mind, that 
a liberal subscription was opened, to defray the expence 
of erecting a statue to his honour, while yet alive. The 
principles of Howard were abhorrent from ostentation; 
his services to mankind were not baits for praise. When 
he heard of this scheme, u Have I not/' said he, " one 
friend in England, who would put a stop to such a pro- 
ceeding ?" The business, was accordingly dropped ; but 
to the credit of the subscribers, the money collected was 
principally applied to the relief of captive indigence 
and misfortune. 

" An Account of the principal Lazarettos in Europe,' 5 
with various papers relative to the plague, and further 
observations on prisons and hospitals, made its appear- 
ance in 1789. In this publication,. Mr: Howard an- 
nounced his intention of again quitting his country, for 
the purpose of revisiting Russia, Turkey,- and some 
countries of the East. " I am net insensible,' 3 observes 
he, " of the dangers that must attend such a journey. 
Trusting, however, in the" protection of that kind Provi- 
dence which has hitherto preserved me, I calmly and 
cheerfully commit myself to the disposal of unerring 
wisdom. Should it please God to cut off my life, in 

the 



JOHN HOWARD. 43c> 

the prosecution of this design, let not. my conduct be un- 
candidly imputed to rashness or enthusiasm, but to a 
serious, deliberate conviction, that I am pursuing the 
path of duty ; and to a sincere desire of being made an- 
instrument of more extensive usefulness to my fellow- 
creatures, than could be expected in the narrow circle of- 
retired lite." The ^vent which his- mind seemed to pre- 
sage,, and for which he had prepared himself, by depre- 
cating invidious reflections, actually took place. Having; 
spent some time at Cherson, a new Russian settlement, 
where the malignity of disease had cut off thousands of 
that nation, as much from ignorance and neglect, as 
from the natural insalubrity of the place, his benevolence 
prompted him to visit a young lady, who lay danger- 
ously ill of an epidemic fever, in order to administer 
some medicines for her relief: he caught the distemper, 
and soon became the victim of his own humanity ! Prince 
Potemkin, hearing of his illness, sent his own physician 
to attend him ; but all in vain: the days of his life were 
numbered, the measure of his labours was complete, 
and he died on the twelfth day. He was buried in the 
garden ,of a French gentleman in the neighbourhood ; 
and, barbarous as was the country in which he made his 
exit, the grave of our virtuous philanthropist was not 
unwatered by a tear. In Britain, his death was known 
with the sincerest regret: it was announced in the Lon- 
don Gazette, a compliment which no private subject ever 
received before ; and all ranks were eager to testify their 
regard to the memory of a man who had merited so 
well of human nature in general, and who will ever be 
an ornament to the country that produced him. 

The abstemiousness of Mr. Howard was very great ; 
and to this cause the prolongation of his life, amidst in- 
fection and disease, may in a great measure be ascribed. 
He totally avoided the use of animal food; and at one 
time lived almost wholly on potatoes ; at another, on 
tea, bread, and butter. No convivial invitations, how- 
£ 4 ever 



440 



JOHN HOWARD. 



ever honourable, were accepted by him : his only de- 
delight consisted in visiting the abodes of misery, that 
he might be the happy instrument of alleviating its op- 
pression. 

His monument in St. Paul's cathedral is at once a 
proof of national genius and national gratitude. * The 
inscription tells us, with truth, " that he trod an open, 
but unfrequented path to immortality, in the ardent ancj 
unremitted exercise of Christian charity." And con- 
cludes, " May this tribute to his fame excite an emula- 
tion of his truly honourable actions !" 




N. B. This third Edition, besides the Frontispiece, is em* 
Idiishtd viih four Plates^ containing outline Portraits of 
TJFENTY-FOUR of the illustrious Persons xchofe Memoirs 
are contained in the Work-, 



a£pen- 



APPENDIX: 

CONTAINING 

A BRIEF CHRONOLOGICAL VIEW 

OF 

ENGLISH HISTORY; 

From the time cf Egbert to the reign of George III. and 
intended as a Companion to the British Nepos. - 

EGBERT, seventeenth king of the West Saxons, be- 
gan his reign in. 799. He conquered Kent, and laid 
the foundation of the sole monarchy of England in 823, 
which put an end to the Saxon Heptarchy, and was so- 
lemnly crowned at Winchester, when, by his edict, in S27> 
he ordered all the south of the island to be called England. 
He died Feb. 4, 837, and was buried at Winchester; 

ETHELWOLF, eldest son of Egbert, succeeded his i 
father, notwithstanding, at the time of Egbert's death, he 
was bishop of Winchester. In 84«6 he ordained tythes to 
be-, collected, and exempted the clergy from regal tributes. 
He visited Rome in 84>7, confirmed the grant of Peter- 
pence, and agreed to pay Rome 300 marks per annum. 
His son Ethelbald obliged him to divide the sovereignty 
with him, 856. . He died Jan. 13, 857> and was buried at 
Winchester. 

ETHELBALD II. eldest son of Ethelwolf, succeeded 
m 857. He. died Dec. 20, 860, and was buried at Sher- 
borne, but removed to Salisbury. 

ETHELBERT II. second son of Ethehvolf, succeeded 
in 860, and was greatly harassed by the Danes, who were 
repulsed and vanquished. He died in 866, was buried at 
Sherborne, and was succeeded by 

ETHELRED I. third son of Ethewolf, began his reign 
in S66, when the Danes again harassed his kingdom. In 
870, they. destroyed the monasteries of Bradney, Crow- 
land, Peterborough, Ely, and Huntingdon, when the nuns 
of Coldingham defaced themselves to avoid: pollution ; 
and in East Anglia they murdered Edmund, at Edmunds- 
bury, in Suffolk. Ethelred overthrew the Danes, 871, at 
Assendon. He fought nine battles with the Lanes in one 

year, was wounded at Wittineham, which occasioned his 
_ 



442 APPENDIX. 

death, April 27, 872, and was buried at. Winborne, in 
Dorsetshire. 

ALFRED, the fourth son of Ethelwolf, succeeded in 
872, in the 2 c 2d year of his age; was crowned at Winches- 
ter, and is distinguished by the title of Alfred the Great. 
He was born at Wantage, in Berkshire, 84:9, and obliged 
to take the field against the Danes within one month after 
his coronation, at Wilton, in Oxfordshire. He fought 
seven battles with them in 876. In 877 another succour 
of Danes arrived, and Alfred was obliged to disguise him- 
self in the habit of a shepherd, in the isle of Aldersey, in 
the county of Somerset; till, in 878, collecting his scatter- 
ed friends, he attacked and defeated them, in 879, when 
he obliged the greatest part of their army to quit the 
island: in 897 they went up the river Lea, and built a 
fortress at Wear, where king Alfred turned ofF the course 
of the river, and left their ships dry, which obliged the 
Danes to remove. He died Oct. 28, 899. He formed a 
body of laws, afterwards made use of by Edward the Con- 
fessor, which was the groundwork of the present. He 
divided his kingdoms into shires, hundreds, and tithings; 
-and obliged his nobles to bring up their children in 
learning t and, to induce them thereto, admitted none into 
office unless they were learned; and, to enable them to 
procure that learning, he is said to have founded the uni- 
versity of Oxford. He was buried at Winchester. 

EDWARD the Elder, his son, succeeded him, and was 
crowned at Kingston upon Thames, in 899. In 911, 
Llewellyn, prince of Wales, did homage to Edward for 
his principality. He died at Farringdon, in Berkshire, in 
924, and was buried at Winchester. 

ATHELSTAN, his eldest son, succeeded him, and was 
crowned, with far greater magnificence than usual, at 
Kingston upon Thames, in 929. In 937 he defeated two 
Welsh princes; but soon after, on their making submis- 
sion, he restored their estates to them. He escaped being 
•assassinated in his tent, 938, which he revenged by attack- 
ing his enemy; when five petty sovereigns, 12 dukes, and 
an army who came to the assistance of Analf , king of Ire- 
land, were slain in a battle fought near Dunbar, in Scot- 
land. He made the princes of Wales tributary, 939; and 
did Oft. 17, 940, at Gloucester. 

EDMUND I. the fifth son of Edward the Elder, suc- 
ceeded at the age of 18 1 and was crowned king, at King- 



APPENDIX. 443 

stem upon Thames, in 940. On May 26, 947, in endea- 
vouring to separate two persons who were quarrelling, he 
received a wound, of which he bled to death, and was bu- 
ried at Glastonbury, 

ED RED, his brother, aged 23, succeeded in 947, and 
was crowned at Kingston upon Thames, the 17th of Aug. 
He died in 9/55, and was buried at Winchester. 

EDWY, the eldest son of Edmund, succeeded, and was 
crowned at Kingston upon Thames, in 955. He had great 
dissensions with the clergy, and banished Dunstan, their 
ringleader; which occasions little credit to be given to his 
character as drawn by the priests. He died of grief in 
959, after a turbulent reign of four years, and was buried 
at Winchester. 

EDGAR, at the age of 16, succeeded his brother, and 
was crowned at Kingston upon Thames, in 959, and again 
at Bath, in 972. He imposed on the princes of Wales a 
tribute of wolves heads, that, for three years, amounted to 
300 each year. Tie obliged eight tributary princes to row 
him in a barge on the river Dee, in 974. He died July 1, 
975, and was buried at Glastonbury. 

EDWARD the Martyr, his eldest son, succeeded him, 
being but 16 years of age ; was crowned by Dunstan, at 
Kingston upon Thames, in 973. He was stabbed, by the 
instructions of his mother-in-law, as he was drinking, at 
Corfe-casde, in the isle of Purbeck, in Dorsetshire, on 
March 18, 979. He was first buried at Wareham, with- 
out any ceremony, but removed three years after, in great 
pomp, to Shaftesbury, 

ETHELRED II. succeeded his half-brother, and was 
crowned at Kingston upon Thames on April 14, 979. In 
982 his palace, with great part of London, was destroyed 
by a great fire. England was ravaged by the Danes, who, 
999, received at one payment about 16,003/. raised by a 
land-tax called Danegelt. A general massacre of the 
Danes on Nov. 13, 1002. Swain revenged his country- 
men's deaths 100 5, and did not quit the kingdom till 
Ethelred had paid him 36,000/. which he the year follow- 
ing demanded as an annual tribute. In the spring of 
10', )3 they subdued great part of the kingdom. To stop 
their progress, it was agreed in 1012 to pay the Danes 
48,000/. to quit the kingdom. In the space of 20 years 
they received 469,687/. sterling. Soon after, Swain en- 
tered the Humber again; when Ethelred retired to the isle 
T6 



444 APPENDIX. 

of Wight, and sent his sons, with their mother Emma, 
into Normandy, to her brother; and Swain took posses- 
sion of the whole kingdom in 1013. 

SWAIN was proclaimed king of England in 1013, and 
no person disputed his title. His first act of sovereignty 
was an insupportable tax, which he did not live to see col- 
lected. He died Feb. 3, 1014, at Thetford in Norfolk. 

CANUTE, his son, was proclaimed March 1014, and 
endeavouring to gain the affections of his English subjects, 
but without success, retired to Denmark. 

ETHELRED returned, at the invitation of his subjects. 
Canute returned 1015, soon after he had left England, and 
landed at Sandwich. Ethelred retired to the north ; but 
by avoiding a battle with the Danes he lost the affections of 
his subjects, and, retiring to London, expired in 1016. 

EDMUND IRONSIDE, his son, was crowned at 
Kingston upon Thames, April 1016 ; but from a dis- 
agreement among the nobility, Canute was likewise 
crowned at Southampton. In June following, Canute 
totally routed Edmund, at Assendon in Essex, who soon 
after met Canute in the isle of Alderney, . in the Severn, 
where a peace was concluded, and the kingdom divided 
between them. Edmund did not survive above a month 
after, being murdered at Oxford, before he had reigned a 
year. He left two sons and two daughters ; from one of 
the daughters James I. of England was descended, and 
from him George III. 

CANUTE was established 1017: he made an alliance 
with Normandy, and married Emma, Ethelred's widow, 
1018: made a voyage to Denmark, attacked Norway, and 
took possession of the crown, 1028; died at Shaftsbury, 
1036; and was buried at Winchester. 

HAROLD I. his son, began his reign 1036; died 
April 14, 1039, and was succeeded by his younger brother, 

HARDICANUTE, king of Denmark, who died at 
Lambeth 1041 ; was buried at New Winchester, and suc- 
ceeded by a son of queen Emma, by her first husband, 
Ethelred II. 

EDWARD the Confessor was born at Islip, Oxford- 
shire, and began his reign in the 40th year of his age. He 
was crowned at Winchester 1042; married Editha, daugh- 
ter of Godwin earl of Kent, 1043; remitted the tax of 
Danegelt, and was the first king of England that touched 
for the king's-evil, 1058 $ died Jan. 5, 1066, aged 65) was 



APPENDIX. 445 

buried in Westminster-abbey, which he rebuilt, where his 
bones were enshrined in gold, and set with jewels, in 1206. 
Emma, his mother, died 1052. He was succeeded by 

HAROLD II. son of the earl of Kent, began his reign 
1066; defeated by his brother Tosti, and the Ling of Nor- 
way, who had invaded his dominions at Stamford, Sept. 
25, 1066; killed by the Normans, under William, at 
Hastings, Oct. 14- following. 

WILLIAM I. duke of Normandy, a descendant of Ca- 
nute, born 1027; paid a visit to Edward the Confessor, in 
England. 1051 ; betrothed his daughter to Harold II. 
1058; made a claim of the crown of England 1066; in- 
vaded England, landed at Pevensey in Sussex, the same 
year; defeated the English troops at Hastings on Oct. 14, 
1066, when Harold was slain, and William assumed the 
title of Conqueror. He was crowned at Westminster, 
Dec. 29, 1066; invaded Scotland 1072; subverted the 
English constitution 1 074 ; refused to swear fealty to the 
Pope for the crown of England; wounded by his son Ro- 
bert, at Gerberot in Normandy, 1079; invaded France 
1086 ; soon after fell from his horse, and contracted a rup- 
ture; died at Hermentrude, near Rouen in Normandy, 
1087; buried at Caen ; succeeded in Normandy by his el- 
dest son Robert, and in England by his second son, 

WILLIAM II. born 1057; crowned at Westminster 
Sept. 27, 1087; invaded Normandy with success 1090; 
killed by accident as he was hunting in the New Forest, 
by Sir Walter Tyrrel, Aug. 1100, aged 43; buried at 
Winchester, and succeeded by his brother, 

HENRY I. born 1068, crowned August 5, 1 100; mar- 
ried Matilda, daughter of Malcolm king of Scots, Nov. 11 
following; made peace with his brother Robert 1101 ; in- 
vaded Normandy 1105; attacked by Robert, whom he 
defeated, took prisoner, and sent to England, in 1107; 
betrothed his daughter Maude to the emperor of Germa- 
ny 1109; challenged by Lewis of France 1117; his eldest 
son and two others of his children shipwrecked and lost, 
with 180 of his nobility, in coming from Normandy, 1120; 
in quiet possession of Normandy, 1129; surfeited himself 
with eating lampreys, at Lyons, near Rouen in Normandy, 
and died Y)qc. 1, 1135, aged 68 ; his body was brought 
over to England, and buried at Reading. He was suc- 
ceeded by his nephew Stephen,, third son of his sister Adela 
by the earl of Biois. He left 100,000/. in cash, besides 
plate and jewels to an immense value. 



446 APPENDIX. 

STEPHEN, born 1105 ; crowned Dec. % 1135 ; taken 
prisoner at Lincoln by the earl of Gloucester, Maude's 
half-brother, Feb. 1141, and put in irons, at Bristol, but 
released in exchange for the earl of Gloucester, taken at 
Winchester ; made peace with Henry, Maude's son, 1153; 
died of the piles, Ocl. 25, 1154, aged 50; was buried at 
Feversham, and succeeded by Henry, son of Maude. 

HENRY II. grandson of Henry I. born 1133, began 
his reign in 1151- ; arrived in England, Dec. 8, and. was, 
with his queen Eleanor, crowned at London, the 19th of 
the same month; crowned at Lincoln, 1158; again at 
Worcester, 1159: quelled the rebellion in Maine, 1166 ; 
had his son Henry crowned king of England 1170; in- 
vaded Ireland, and took possession of it, 1 172 ; imprisoned 
his queen on account of Rosamond, his concubine, 1173 ; 
did penance at Becket's tomb, July 8, 1171 ; took the king 
of Scotland prisoner,-and obliged him to give up the inde- 
pendency of his crown, 1175 ; named his son, John, Lord 
of Ireland, 1 176 ; had, the same year, an amour with Alice, 
of France, the intended princess of his son Richard, 1181 ; 
lost his eldest son Henry, June 11, 11 83 ; his son Richard 
rebelled, 1185; his son J cilery trodden under foot, and 
killed, at a tournament at Paris, 1186 ; made a convention 
with Philip of France to go to the holy war, 1188 ;• died 
with grief at the altar, cursing his sons, July 6, 1 189, aged 
56 ; was buried at Fonteverard, in France, and succeeded 
by his son Richard. 

RICHARD I. was born at Oxford, 1157, crowned at 
London, Sept. 3, 1189 ; set out on the crusade, and joined 
Philip of France, on the plains of Vezelay, June 29, 1190 ; 
:ook Messina the latter end of the year ; married Beren- 
jera, daughter of the king of Navarre, May 12, 1 191 ; de- 
bated the Cyprians, 1191 ; taken prisoner near Vienna, 
)n his return home, by the duke of Austria, Dec. 29, 1 192 ; 
-ansomed for 40,000/. and set at liberty, 1193 ; returned 
o England, March 20, following; wounded with an ar- 
•ow, at Chaluz, near Limoges, in Normandy, and died 
\pril 6, 1199 ; buried at Fonteverard, and was succeeded 
>y his brother 

JOHN, the youngest son of Henry II. born at Oxford, 
Dec. 24, 1166 ; was crowned May 27, 1199 ; divorced his 
?ife Avisa, and married Isabella, daughter of the Count 
f Angolesme; went to Paris, 1200; besieged the castle 
Jf Mirable, and took his nephew Arthur prisoner, Aug. 1, 
202, whom he murdered ; the same year he was expel- 



APPENDIX. 44/ 

led the French provinces, and re-crowned in England ; im- 
prisoned his queen, 1208 ; banished all the clergy in his 
dominions, 1208 ; was excommunicated, 1209; landed in 
Ireland, June 8, 1210; surrendered his crown to Pandolf, 
the Pope's legate, May 25, 1213; absolved, July 20, fol- 
lowing ; obliged by his barons to confirm Magna Charta, 
1215 ; lost his treasure and baggage in passing the marshes 
of Lynn, 1216; died at Newark, Otf. 18, 1216; was bu- 
ried at Worcester, and succeeded by his son 

HENRY III. born Oct. I, 1207; crowned at Glou- 
cester, Oct. 28, 1216, received homage from Alexander of 
Scotland, at Northampton, 1218 ; crowned again at West- 
minster, after Christmas, 1219 ; married Eleanor, daugh- 
ter of the count of Provence, Jan 14, 1236; pledged his 
crown and jewels for money, when he married his daugh- 
ter Margaret to the king of Scots, 1242 ; obliged by his 
nobles to resign the power of a Sovereign ; and sell Nor- 
mandy and Anjou to the French, 12,58 ; shut himself up 
in the Tower of London, for fear of his nobles, 1261; 
taken prisoner at Lewes, May 11, 1264; wounded at the 
battle of Evesham, 1265; died of old age at St. Edmons- 
bury, Nov. 16? 1272; and was succeeded by his son 

EDWARD I. born June 16, 1239 ; married Eleanor, 
princess of Castile, 1253; succeeded to the crown, Nov. 
16, 1272; wounded in the Holy Land with a poisoned 
dagger ; recovered, and landedjn England, July 25, 1274 : 
crowned at Westminster, Aug. 19 following, with his 
queen ; went to France, and did homage to the French 
king, 1279; reduced the Welsh princes, 1282; Eleanor. 
his queen, died of a fever on her journey to Scotland, at 
Horneby, in Lincolnshire, 1296, and was conveyed tc 
Westminster, (when elegant stone crosses were ejected at 
each place where the corpse rested) ; married Margaret, 
sister to the king of France, Sept. 12, 1299; conquered 
Scotland, 1299, and brought to England their coronation 
chair, &c. and died of a flux at Burgh upon the sands ir 
Cumberland, July 7, 1307 ; was buried at Westminster 
where on May 2, 1774, some antiquarians, by consent c: 
the Chapter, examined his tomb, when they found hi< 
corpse unconsumed, though buried 466 years. He v/ai 
succeeded by his fourth son 

EDWARD II. born at Caernarvon, in Wales, April 25 
1284 ; was the first king of England's eldest son that hac 
the title of Prince of Wales, wito which he was invested ij 



448 APPENDIX, 

1284. He ascended the throne, July 7, 130.7 ; married 
Isabella, daughter of the French king, 1308; obliged by 
his barons to invest the government of the kingdom in 
twenty-one persons, March 16, 1310; went on a pilgri- 
mage to Boulogne, December 13, 1313; declared his 
queen and all her adherents enemies to the kingdom, 1325; 
dethroned Jan. 13, 1327; succeeded by his eldest son, 
Edward III. murdered at Berkeley castle, Sept. 21, fol- 
lowing, and buried at Gloucester. 

EDWARD III. born at Windsor, Nov. 15, 1312; sue, 
ceeded to the crown, Jan. 13, 1327 ; crowned at Westmin- 
ster, Feb. 1, following ; married Philippa, daughter of the 
earl of Hainau.lt, Jan. 24, 1327; claimed the crown of 
France, 1329; confined his mother Isabella, and caused 
her favourite, earl Mortimer, to be hanged, Nov. 23, 1330; 
defeated the Scots at Halidown, 1339; invaded France, 
and pawned his crown and Jewels for 50,000 florins, 1340 ; 
quartered the arms of England and France, 1341; made 
the first distinction between the Lords and Commons, 
15342 ; defeated the French atCressy, 30,000 slain, among 
ivhom was the king of Bohemia, 1346 ; his queen took the 
dng of Scotland prisoner and slew 20,000 Scots the same 
r r ear ; Calais besieged and taken, Aug. 16, 1347 ; and St. 
Stephen's chapel, now the House of Commons, built 1347 r 
he Order of the Garter instituted 1349; the French de- 
bated at Poidtiers, their king and prince taken, and the . 
:ing of Navarre imprisoned 1356 ; the king of Scotland 
ansomed for 100,000/. 1357 ; in which year Edward lost 
lis eldest son, Edward the black prince, of a consumption; . 
he king of France ransomed for 300,000 ; . 1359; four 
ings entertained at the Lord Mayor's feast, viz. of Eng- 
ine!, France, Scotland, and Cyprus 1364; Philippa his. 
ueen, died at Windsor Aug. 16, 1369, and was buried 
t Westminster ; Edward died at Richmond, June 21,, 
377, and was succeeded by his grandson 

RICHARD II. born at Bourdeaux Jan. 6, 1367 ; had., 
vo royal godfathers, the kings of Navarre and Majorca ; 
lade guardian of the kingdom Aug. 30, 1372; created 
rince of Wales 1376, succeeded his grandfather, Edward , 
[I. June 21, 1377? when not seven years old ; the rebel- 
on of Wat Tyler and Jack Straw 1378 ; married Anne, 
ster to the emperor of Germany, and king of Bohemia, 
tn. 1382, who died without issue, at Shene, and was bu- 
ed in Westminster Abbey, August, 3, 1395 j married 



APPENDIX. 449 

Isabella, daughter to the king of France, 1396. He was 
taken prisoner by Henry duke of Lancaster, Iris cousin, 
and sent to the Tower Sept. I, 1399; resigned his crown 
Sept. 29 following, and was succeded by Henry IV. 
Richard was murdered in Pomfret Castle, Jan. 1400. and 
buried at Langley, but afterwards removed to West- 
minster. 

HENRY IV. duke of Lancaster, grandson of Edward 
III. born 1367; married Mary, the daughter of the earl 
of Hereford, who died 1391, before he obtained the crown ; 
fought with the duke of Norfolk 1397, and banished ; re- 
turned to England in arms against Richard II. who re- 
signed his kingdom, and Henry was crowned, Oct. 13, 
1399, when he instituted the order of the Bath, and created 
47 knights; conspired against, Jan. 1400; defeated by' 
the Welsh 1402 ; married a second queen, Joan of Na- 
varre, widow of the duke of Bretagne 1403; she was 
crowned with great magni licence the 26th of January fol- 
lowing, and died in 1437 ; in 1403 the rebellion of the 
Percies began, suppressed July following. He died of an 
apoplexy in Westminster, March 20, 1413, was buried at 
Canterbury, and succeeded by his son 

HENRY V. who was born in 1388, and in 1412, when 
prince of Wales, was committed to prison for insulting 
one of the judges ; crowned at Westminster April 9, 1413; 
claimed the crown of France 1414; gained the battle of 
Agincourt Oct. 24, 1415 ; pledged his regalia for 20,000/. 
to extend his conquests, 1416. The emperor Sigismund 
paid a visit to Henry, and was installed knight of the garter, 
1416. He invaded Normandy with an army of 26,000 
men, 1417 ; declared regent and married Catharine of 
France on June 3, 1420. She was crowned at Westmin- 
ster the February following; out-lived Henry, and was 
married afterwards to Owen Tudor, grandfather of Henry 
VII. Henry died of a pleurisy at Rouen, Aug. 31, 1422, 
aged 34, was buried at Westminster, and succeeded by 

HENRY VI. born at Windsor Dec. 6, 1421 ; ascended 
the throne on Aug. 31, 1422 ; proclaimed king of France 
the same year; crowned at Westminster, Nov. 6, 1429; 
crowned at Paris, Dec. 17, 1430; married to Margaret, 
daughter of the duke of Anjou, April 12, 1445; Jack 
Cade 7 s insurrection 1446 ; Henry taken prisoner at St. 
Alban's 1455 ; but regained his liberty 1461 ; and deposed 
March 5 following, by his fourth cousin Edward VI.; fled 

into 



450 APPENDIX. 

into Scotland and taken prisoner in Lancashire 1463; re* 
stored to his throne 1470; taken prisoner again by Ed- 
ward, April 11, 1471 ; queen Margaret and her son taken 
prisoners at Tewkesbury by Edward, May 4; the prince 
killed in cold blood, May 21 ; and Henry murdered in the 
Tower, June 20 following, and buried at Chertsey, aged 49. 

EDWARD IV. born at Rouen April 29, 1443 ; descend- 
ed from the third son of Edward III. elected king, March 5, 
1461 ; and on March 1 3, before his coronation, was obliged 
to fight the battle of Towton, in which 35,781 Englishmen 
were killed, and only the earl of Devonshire taken pri- 
soner ! was crowned at Westminster, June 28, 1461 ; sat 
publicly with the judges in Westminster-hall, 1463 ; mar- 
ried lady Elizabeth Grey, widow of Sir John Grey, of 
Groby, March 1, 1464. who was crowned the 26th follow- 
ing. Edward was taken prisoner by the earl of Warwick 
in Yorkshire, from whence he was brought to London, 
with his legs tied under his horse's belly, 1467 ; escaped, 
but was expelled the kingdom, 1470 ; returned March 25, 
1471, restored, and caused his brother, the duke of Cla- 
rence, who had joined the earl of Warwick, to be drowned 
in a butt of Malmsey wine, 1478 ; died of an ague at 
Westminster, April 9, 1483 ; and was buried at Windsor, 
where his corpse was discovered undecayed on March 1 1 , 
1789, and his dress nearly perfect, as were the lineaments 
of his face. He was succeeded by his infant son 

EDWARD V. born Nov. 4, 1470: conveyed to the 
Tower, May 1483 ; deposed June 20 following, and with 
the duke of York his brother, smothered soon after by or- 
der of their uncle, 

PvICHARD III. duke of Gloucester, brother to Edward 
IV. born 1 453 5 took prince Edward, son of Henry IV. pri- 
soner at Tewkesbury, and murdered him in cold blood, 
1471 ; drowned the duke of Clarence, brother to Edward 
VI. in a butt of Malmsey wine, 1478 ; made protector of 
England May 27, 1483, elected king, June 20, and crowned 
July 6 following ; ditto at York Sept. 8 ; slain in battle, 
at Bosworth, Aug. 22, 1485, aged 32; buried in Leices- 
ter, and sue ceded bv 

HENRY VII. born 1455 ; who landed at Miiford 
Haven, 1485; defeated Richard III. in Bosworth-field, 
and was elected King, 1485 ; crowned October 30, 1485; 
married Elizabeth, daughter of Edward IV. Jan. 18, IIS;, 
who was crowned in November following ; defeated I 



APPENDIX. 451 

bert Simnel, the Impostor, June 16, 1487; received of the 
French king, as a compromise for his claim on that crown, 
186,2.501. besides 25,000 crowns yearly, 1492; prince Ar- 
thur, his eldest son, died April 2, 1502 ; queen Elizabeth 
.died in childbed, February 11 following, and was buried 
at Westminster. Mary, his third daughter, married Louis 
XII. of France, by whom she was left without issue, and 
she re-married Charles Brandon, duke of Suffolk, by whom 
she had issue, and died 1533, and was buried at St Ed- 
mondsbury, where her corpse was discovered, September 
6, 17$4, in a perfect state. She was grandmother of the 
unfortunate lady Jane Grey. Henry married his daughter 
Margaret, to James IV. of Scotland, 1504; died of a 
consumption, at Richmond, April 22, 1509, aged 51, 
buried at Westminster, and succeeded bvhis son 

HENRY VIII. born June 28, ' 1491, married Ca- 
therine, Infanta of Spain, widow of his brother Arthur, 
June 3, 1509; crowned June 24 following; received the 
title of defender of the faith, 1521 ; styled head of the 
church, 1531; divorced queen Catherine, and married 
Anne Bulleyne, May 23, 1533; Anne crowned, June 1, 
1533; he was excommunicated by Pope Paul, Aug. 30, 
1535; Catherine, his first queen, died at Kimbolton, Jan. 8 , 
1536, aged 50; he put Anne, his second queen, to death, 
and married Jane Seymour, May 20, 1536, who died in 
childbed, Oct. 12, 1537 ; he dissolved the religious foun- 
dations in England, 1539: married Anne of Cleves, Jan. 
6, 1540; divorced her, July 10, 1540; married Catharine 
Howard, his fifth wife, Aug. 8 following, and beheaded 
heron Tower-hill, with lady Rochford, Feb. 12, 1542; 
married Catharine Parr, his sixth wife, July 12, 1543. 
He died of a fever and an ulcerated leg, at Westminster, 
Jan. 28, 1547 ; was buried at Windsor, and succeeded by 
his only son 

EDWARD VI. born October 12, 1537 ; crowned Sun- 
day, Feb. 20, 1547; who died of a consumption at Green- 
wich, July 6, 1553; was buried at Westminster, and was 
succeeded, agreeably to his will, by his cousin 

MARY, born Feb. 11, 1516; proclaimed JulylP, 15-53 ; 
and crowned Oct. 1 following ; married Philip of Spair 
July 25, 1554; died of a dropsy, Nov. 17, 1558; was 
buried at Westminster, and succeeded by her half-sister. 

ELIZABETH, born Sept. 7, 1533; "sent prisoner to 
the Tower, 1554 ; began to re ; gn, Nov. 17, 1553; crown- 



452 APPENDIX. 

ed at Westminster, Jan. 15, 1559; Mary queen of Scots 
fled to England, May 16, 1568, and was imprisoned in Tut- 
bury castle, Jan. 1569 ; Elizabeth relieved the protestants 
in the Netherlands with above 200,000 crowns, besides 
stores, 1569; a marriage proposed to the queen by the 
duke of Alencon, 1571; but finally rejected, 1581 ; cru- 
elly beheaded Mary queen of Scots, at Fotheringhay cas- 
tle, February 8, 1587? aged 44; destroyed the Spanish 
Armada, 1588 Tyrone's rebellion in Ireland, 1599; 
Essex, the queen's favourite, beheaded, Feb. 25, 1602 ; the 
queen died at Richmond, March 24, 1603; was buried at 
Westminster, and succeeded by the son of Mary queen of 
Scots, then James VI. of Scotland. 

JAMES I. born at Edinburgh, June 19, 1566; was 
crowned king of Scotland, July 22, 1567 ; married Anne, 
princess of Denmark, Aug. 10, 1589; succeeded to the 
crown of England, March 24,1603; first styled king of 
Great Britain 1604 ; arrived at London, May 7 following ; 
lost his eldest son, Henry prince of Wales, Nov. 6, 1612; 
aged 18; married his daughter Elizabeth, to the prince 
Palatine of the Rhine, 1612; from whom his present Ma- 
jesty George III. is descended; went to Scotland March 
4, 1617 ; returned Sept. 14, 1618; lost his queen, March 
1619; died of an ague, March 27, 1625; was buried at 
Westminster, and was succeeded by 

CHARLES I. born Nov, 19, 1600 ; visited Madrid on a ' 
matrimonial scheme, Mar. 7, 1623 ; succeeded tothe crown, 
March 27, 1625; married Henrietta, daughter of the king 
of France, the same year ; crowned Feb. 2, 1626; crown- 
ed at Edinburgh 1633; went to Scotland, August 1641 ; 
returned Nov. 25 following ; went to the House of Com- 
mons, and demanded the five members, Jan. 1641-2; re- 
tired to York, March 1642; raised his standard at Not- 
tingham, Aug. 25 following ; travelled in the disguise of a 
servant, and put himself into the hands of the Scots, at 
Newark, May 5, 1646; sold by the Scots for 200,0001. 
Aug. 8 following; siezed by Col. Joice, at Holmby, June 
3, 1647; escaped from Flampton-court, and retreated to 
the Isle of Wight, July 29, 1643 ; closely confined in Hurst 
castle, Dec. 1 following; removed to Windsor-castle, Dec. 
23; to St. James's house, Jan. 19, 1649; brought to trial 
the next day, condemned the 27th, beheaded at Whitehall 
the 30th, aged 48, andburiedin St. George's-chapel, Wind- 
sor. His queen, Henrietta, died at Paris, Aug. 10, 1669. 

OLIVER 



APPENDIX. 453 

OLIVER CROMWELL, the Usurper, was born at 
Huntingdon, April 25, 1599 ; chosen member of parlia- 
ment for Huntingdon, 1628 ; raised to the rank of colonel 
161-3: went over to Ireland with his army, July 1649; re- 
turned, May, 1650; made Protector for life, Dec. 12, 1653; 
re-admitted the Jews into England, in 1656, after their ex- 
pulsion 365 years; refused the title of king, May 8, 1657; 
died at Whitehall, Sept. 3, 1658, and succeeded by his son 

RICHARD CROMWELL, proclaimed protector, Sept. 
4, 1658; deposed April 22, 1659; died at Cheshunt, in 
Hertfordshire, July 2, 1712, aged 82. 

CHARLES II. 'born May 29, 1630; escaped from St. 
James's April 23, 1618; landed in Scotland, 1650: crown- 
ed at Scone Jan. 1, IS51 ; defeated at the battle of Wor- 
cester 1651 ; landed at Dover, May 20, 1660, and restored 
to the throne; crowned, April 13, 1661 ; married Catha- 
rine infanta of Portugal, May 21, 1662; accepted the city 
freedom, Dec. 18, 1674-; died Feb. 6, 1G85, aged 51, of 
an apoplexy, was buried at Westminster, and was suc- 
ceeded by his brother James. Catharine his queen, died, 
Dec. 21, '1705. 

JAMES II born Oct. 15, 1633; married Ann Hyde, 
Sept. 1660, who died 1671; married the princess of Mo- 
dena, Nov. 21, 1673; s cceeded to the throne, Feb. 6, 
1635; Monmouth, nature son to Charles II. landed in 
England, June 11, 16-5; pi ^claimed king at Taunton, 
in Somersetshire, June 20 following; defeated near Bridge- 
water, July 5; beheaded on Tower-hill July 15, following, 
aged 35; James's queen had a son born June 10, 16S8. 
Fled from his palace, Dec. 12, 1688; was seized soon 
after at Feversham and brought back to Whitehall ; left 
England Dec. 23 following; landed at Kinsale, in Ireland 
March 12, 1-689; returned to France, July 1690; died at 
St. Germain's, Aue. 6, 1701. 

WILLIAM lit Prince of Orange, born Nov. 4, 1650; 
created Stadtholder, July 3, 1672; married the Princess 
Mary of England, Nov. 4, 1677; landed at Torbay, in 
England, with an army, Nov. 4, 1688; declared king of 
England, Feb. 13, 1689; crowned with the queen, April 
11,' 1689; landed at Carrickfergus, June 14, 1690, and de- 
feated James II. at the battle of the Bovne, July 1 follow- 
ing ; a plot laid for assassinating him Feb. 1696 : fell from 
his horse, and broke his collar bone, Feb. 21, ±702; died 
March 8, aged 51 ; was buried April 12 following, and 
left his sister-in-law, Anne, his successor to the crowr. 



454 APPENDIX, 

ANNE, born Feb. 6, 1665: married to Prince George 
of Denmark, July 28, 1683; by whom she had 13 chil- 
dren, all of whom died young; she came to the crown, 
March 8, 1702; crowned April 13 following; lost her son, 
George, Duke of Gloucester, by a fever, July 29, 1700, 
aged 11: lost her husband, who died of an asthma and 
dropsy, Oct. 28, 1708, aged 55; the queen died of an apo- 
plexy, Aug. 1, 17 14, aged 49; was buried at Westminster 
and succeeded by 

GEORGE I. Elector of Hanover, duke of Brunswick- 
Lunenburgh, born May 28, I860; created duke of 
Cambridge, &c. Oct. 5, 1706. Princess Sophia, his 
mother died June 8, 1714, aged 83. He was proclaim- 
ed, Aug. 1, 1714; landed at Greenwich, Sept. 18 follow- 
ing; died on his journey to Hanover, at Osnaburgh, Sun- 
day, June 11, 1727, of a paralytic disorder, aged 67, 
and was succeeded by his eldest son 

GEORGE II. bora Od. 30, 1683; created Prince of 
Wales, Oct 4, 1714; married the princess Wilhelmina- 
Carolina-Dorothea, of Brandenburg-Anspach 1704; as- 
cended the throne, June 11, 1727; lost his queen, Nov. 20 
1737, aged 54; suppressed a rebellion 1745; died sud- 
denly at Kensington, Oct. 25, 17-60, aged 77, and was 
succeeded by his grandson, 

GEORGE III. eldest son of Frederick, late prince of 
Wales, born June 4, 1738; created prince of -Wales, 
3 751; succeeded his grandfather, Oct. 25, 1760; pro- 
claimed the next day; married Charlotte-Sophia, princess 
of Mecklenburg- Strelitz, Sept. S, 1761, who was born 
May 19, 1744. Both were crowned Sept. 22, 1761, whom 
God preserve! , , , , , , # § , ,,*,***'**< 



''"S^-^-w^ 



J 



T. Gillet, Printer, S.ililfeury*fquare. 

T 19 9 6 



V X> ' 







^ s "^ 




























<^ /- 












^ ^ 



^** 



„ ■$> 







